


Operation Rectal Revenge

by BoringMacaroni



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Best Friends, Burp Kink, Burping, Centaurs, College, Comedy, Drama, Elves, Eproctophilia, Fantasy, Fart Fetish, Farting, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gas Kink, Gassy Guy, Humiliation, Kink Fic, LGBTQ, M/M, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Monsters, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Romantic Friendship, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, University, Urban Fantasy, Werewolves, burping kink, fart kink, farting fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoringMacaroni/pseuds/BoringMacaroni
Summary: Revenge is a dish best served smelly.





	1. Enter Dante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet our brooding, melodramatic, wickedly handsome protagonist.
> 
> ...well, he's one of those things.

It had been exactly one week since Dante Dinmont’s hazing, and yet it was still finding new and interesting ways to bite him in the ass.

“Friends. Friends!” he spat, as though the noun had left a bad taste in his mouth. “What does that word even _mean_ anymore?”

He readjusted his backpack with a vexed grunt. His classes were finished and so Friday was, from this academic's standpoint, _over._ Which meant that he had somehow survived the five worst days of his **_entire_** life.

One hundred and twenty hours, more or less, of non-stop taunting, teasing, mocking, belittling, from every creature of every social ranking in the academy. And on his part, non-stop humiliation. Non-stop _exhaustion._ Constantly anticipating the next cruel comment to be hurled at him from any and all corners of the hallways and lecture halls was draining the life and soul out of Dante, and he was relieved to finally see the light at the end of this long, miserable tunnel.

Except... it wasn’t _really_ the end of it.

Because once Monday rolled back around, he knew it would start all over again.

The twenty-year-old stuck out his foot and struck a stone across the sidewalk. His wintry mood was a stark contrast to his surroundings; the sun, taking center stage in a cloudless sky, was shining freely, accompanied by a gentle and much-appreciated breeze. The air was warm and smelled of honeysuckle. Only a few days remained before summer vacation.

That should mean two and a half months of nothing but leisure. But now, thanks to today’s serving of misfortunes, it would be two and a half months of sorrow and solitude.

_Look, Dante, we’ve been thinking about this for a while, and…_

“Yeah right, Liza,” the boy grumbled under his breath. He told himself he didn’t care. Yet the excruciating breakup he had with his friends that afternoon - or who he _thought_ were his friends - had been replaying endlessly in his head.

Every last insincere word. Every last disdainful look, lurking behind false smiles. Fixed on a distressing mental loop. It was self-inflicted torture and he knew it, but Dante couldn’t think about anything else. Not when the wound was still so recent, so raw.

He brushed his fingers through his messy hair and breathed out a weary sigh.

“You knew the moment it happened that you didn’t want me around. People of your pristine reputation can’t afford to hang out with the guy who _pissed his pants!”_

Laughter popped his dreary bubble. Dante’s head whipped up to stare at two oversized orc children playing in their front yard. They had stopped chasing a soccer ball around the lawn to snicker at him.

“And now I’m the guy who yells at himself on the street,” he mumbled. “Fantastic.”

He kept his head down and his lips sealed for the remainder of his journey home. He was still getting used to which house was theirs, but his mother had kindly painted their mailbox the most outrageous shade of pink he had ever seen - it was hard to forget something like that.

He rested his weight against the familiarly florescent rectangle and chewed on the inside of his mouth. There was a knot in his stomach and it was growing uncomfortably tight at the thought of facing his mother and her questions.

She meant well, he knew she did, and that he should be thankful to have a parent who was so invested in his life. She couldn't help herself. He could still remember her reaction the first time he told her; how she cried into her plate of salmon and potatoes when, while asking her to pass over the salt, he innocuously mentioned that he had made some friends.

 _Actual_ friends.

No longer did he have to sit by himself at lunch, or work alone on his assignments, or endure another empty weekend. She had been concerned for him up until that point. Truth be told she wasn’t the only one. After three months of living in this town, Dante was starting to wonder if he might not ever find like-minded company.

He was a particular kind of person, and he needed someone equally as particular… or peculiar. He was beginning to feel like the latter was more accurate.

 _No, not peculiar,_ he thought. _Just unlucky._

He groaned. His original plan had been to chill with the guys tonight. Obviously _that_ wasn’t happening anymore, they’d rather be caught dead before they associated with him again. But his mom didn’t have to know that. Not yet.

Dante crossed the yard and carefully unlocked the gate at the rear of the house, dumping his backpack in his little sister’s toy chest as quietly as he could.

He’d deal with her questions later. Right now, he needed to clear his head.

And he knew just the place.

* * *

Dante was still talking to himself when he reached the park, though, with his ever-diminishing social status in mind, he had eased off on the woeful exclamations. He continued to mutter and mope as he ventured beyond toward the Pershin Woods. A popular hangout location, but despite his short time residing in the area, he had discovered a neat little secret spot. Off-trail, away from the hubbub; a place where a guy could really think, and reflect, and maybe cry a little.

Or a lot.

He picked up a stick and ran it along the rows of brown and yellow reeds that bloomed beside the dirt path. A left at the pond, a right at the sunflower patch, and then ten minutes east - there he would find his favorite boulder. It was a flattened rock with a sharp upward incline, allowing an elevated view of the hills and snow-peaked mountains. You could even see the royal castles if the sky was clear enough. The glorious vista was just what he needed to distract himself from his gloomy thoughts.

Dante lowered himself onto the edge so that his feet were swinging out from underneath him and gathered a pile of small, smooth stones. In a ritual that he was certain would get him locked up in the loony bin, he named each stone after his ex-companions, and with great and borderline manic fervor, he launched them down into the river below.

“This is for you, Paul! And _you_ , Tim! And YOU, Liza! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Each stone broke the surface of the water with a harsh smack. Except for the last one. That one didn’t make a smack.

Dante turned rigid. His brow, which had recently acquired a couple of pearls of nervous sweat, slowly furrowed. He could’ve sworn that sounded like a…

_“GRRRRR!”_

A snarl. A snarl that could make a guy’s balls shrivel up to the size of raisins. The kind of snarl that had to belong to something big and hairy and _angry_ , probably because it had just been hit in the face with a rock.

“Oh…”

Timidly, Dante looked below his feet. A face with extra-sharp canine teeth leered up at him.

_“- fuck.”_

The face’s mouth stretched out into a huge perturbing grin, revealing a full set of gnarly gnashers. Three more faces appeared beside it, attached to very muscular, track-suited bodies.

Dante instantly recognized the embroidered emblem on the breast. It was the local werewolf pack.

“SHIT SHIT **_SHIT!_** ”

In a flash, the boy was on his feet and racing toward the other end of the boulder and the safety of the main trail. But there was another two waiting for him there.

They had him trapped.

He raised his hands into the air, shuddering and backing away from the menacing group.

“Look, f-fellas, I, I…!”

His pitiful plea was interrupted by a distant noise. The werewolves tilted their heads, not unlike dogs reacting to a high-pitched whistle. Except in this case, it wasn’t high-pitched. It was deep and brassy and robust and sounded like a tuba player had gotten frightened mid-solo and accidentally blown off a sour note.

Actually, now that Dante thought about it, it almost sounded like a big fa-

“What was _that?_ ”

“How am I supposed ta’ know!?” The werewolf leader barked - although not literally - at his questioning companion. He turned his attention back to the human, eyes ablaze.

“ _You._ You think it’s funny throwin’ shit at us, peewee?”

“No! Of course not!” Dante laughed tremulously. His face was chalk white and he felt as though he might void his bladder all over again. _That’s just what I need_ , he thought, a repeat of the incident that had cost him the only friends he had.

“And I wasn’t throwing it at _you._ But… I mean… if you guys are looking for a game of fetch or something, I could maybe… well... well, heh, I could…”

The snarls grew louder and more ferocious, drowning out his questionably effective apology. Long and jagged claws extended from their fleshy fingertips.

Dante gulped.

“That was the worst possible thing I could’ve said, wasn’t it?”

Noses twitching greedily as they took in the scent of his fear, the werewolves let out a chorus of disturbing laughter.

“He might not be the brightest, but he sure looks tasty,” one of them chortled. “What’d _you_ think, boss?”

Dante met the fiery gaze of the alpha. He searched for the mercy in his eyes, tried to look for signs that there was a caring, compassionate soul underneath those rippling muscles and bristling skin. The sort of sensitivity that would enable him to find sympathy for this poor kid’s plight.

But he saw nothing but hunger.

“I think it’s chow time, boys!” The alpha announced, much to the joy of his associates. Drool was starting to slip down the side of his overcrowded mouth.

The werewolves roared and lunged.


	2. Curtis the Cursed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎵 In danger, or trouble  
> He's there on the double  
> You know you always can call...  
> Curtis Feeergle!!! 🎵
> 
> Meet the sidekick.

Trouble was brewing on the other side of the woods, too. Like, _literally._

“Come on, come on, come on!”

Curtis let out a whine through gritted teeth. He had walked as far out as he possibly could; any further than this and the depths of the dark forest might just swallow the little guy whole.

Uninhibited by man’s incessant need to take up space, nature had reclaimed her kingdom, creating an impenetrable barrier of bulky creepers and twisting vines. He considered himself lucky he had only encountered that. He could’ve just as easily ended up walking straight into - or worse,down! - the edge of a rocky slope.

The only people who found themselves out here were the ones who couldn’t read maps.

Out here, Curtis the Cursed could cause no destruction.

…or so he hoped.

The ticking time-bomb was coming down to its final few ticks. The gurgles in his gut had grown frequent and dangerously urgent. This bubbling boy was ready to _blow!_ A minute more and he wouldn’t be able to keep the storm bottled up.

Curtis made a strained sound as he checked one last time. He was looking for noses. Noses of any size, shape or color. Noses, functional or not, because he had a feeling that his brand could even disturb those with non-existent olfactory abilities.

Halfway through his desperate search, the dam collapsed.

**FFFRRRGGGGGGBBBRRRT! BBOOOOORRRRRRMMFFFRRRRRRRRT-FFFFFBBBRRRBBRBRRRRPRPRPPPMMMOOFFFP!**

For a vessel so petite, Curtis unleashed a colossal barrage of intestinal gas. The ghastly fart sounded like a performance from a very frustrated trombonist, and the mushroom cloud of putrid stench that billowed out from behind the male was so thick you could cut off a piece of it with a knife.

The humid explosion sent alarmed critters scurrying out from the undergrowth. All the surrounding flowers and weeds wilted, lying flat against the now charred grass. The leg he had involuntarily lifted came back down again and his tensed shoulders relaxed.

Red-faced and a bit sweaty, Curtis waited with bated breath for the reaction. There was _always_ a reaction. He didn’t mind his volatile eruptions (well, he didn't exactly have a choice), but he did mind what everyone else thought of them.

There was nothing.

No spluttering coughs or groans or shrieks of disgust followed Curtis’ backdoor blow-out. No cries or complaints. No one ordering him to take a fifty mile hike in the opposite direction.

The bespectacled blonde smiled widely, pleasantly surprised with the unusual outcome. Looks like all that trekking had been worth it.

“Hey, hey! Not bad at all!”

It wasn’t often that he let rip without being made to feel ashamed for it. Unfortunately, Curtis' celebration was cut short. Something small and heavy had landed on his head, and when he reached up to feel for what it was, he groaned in disappointment.

A bird. A distinctly unconscious bird. Okay, well, that’s _one_ casualty. 

“They can’t say you didn’t try,” he mumbled despondently. He dropped his backside down on a decaying log, took off his round glasses and started to clean the fogged-up lenses with the corner of his shirt.

A growl came from his stomach, although this time it signified something a lot less pungent. A quick glance at his wrist told Curtis it was just after six o’clock. This was around the time his mother’s servants started preparing dinner.

He had been airing himself out here since he came home from his classes two hours ago. Surely by now, he had emptied enough of his tank, right?

Come to think of it, maybe he’d require an even longer session today. The air conditioning system had faltered fatally the previous night, including the all-important vent in Curtis’ bedroom. Without the machine to take away his funky fumes, their entire residency - and sometimes their neighbors, if the curse was feeling particularly nasty - ended up reeking of him. He tried his best to hold it in even when the vent _was_ working, but accidents happened... although more often than Curtis would prefer.

His family, particularly his mother's newest boyfriend, were starting to tolerate these accidents less and less. They had always been quick to let Curtis know when he was getting too stinky, but lately their complaints had been laced with more vitriol than usual.

When he had returned home that afternoon, Jonah was waiting for him by the driveway. Apparently they had important guests over that evening. Guests that weren’t looking forward to Curtis joining them at the dinner table. Or even being sixty feet within the _vicinity_ of the dinner table. In other words, everyone wanted Curtis and his chronic butt-blasts to get lost.

So get lost Curtis did.

He set out with the goal of finding a place where he could expel without causing anyone grief. This was not a simple feat; the woods beside their house was too close for comfort, and the local park was no good either. Those who hadn’t fled as soon as he arrived had plugged their noses and made their feelings regarding his gas problem _very_ clear.

Curtis had a reputation for producing foul smells, and even the students from the other college knew all about his... er... talents. The busier trails of Pershin Woods had its fair share of protesters, too. 

So here he was, practically on the outskirts.

Away from humans.

Away from monsters.

_All on his own._

And though it was pretty stupid - he had been cursed with uncontrollable farts for the past eight years - Curtis hated being alone.

There was nothing, ahem, _breezy_ , about being so flatulent. It had taken him months to get even _somewhat_ used to his condition. There had been several sleepless nights, as his gas was loud enough to wake the dead, and he had devastated his own sense of smell in the process (not that he minded that much.) Still, there were ways of accustomising yourself, methods of becoming comfortable with this aromatic lifestyle.

What Curtis couldn’t get comfortable with was the impact it had on his social life. He hadn’t had a buddy since the day he was bewitched, and he missed companionship terribly. The dark magic he was infected with had eliminated any chances of long-term friendship no matter how hard he tried to attain it. No one stuck around when Curtis let it rip. And with Curtis, it was never just once.

Being smelly was a pain. But having everyone, human or not, avoid you like the plague for something you couldn’t even control?

That was the _real_ curse.

His stomach gurgled once more, this time for the usual reason. The log creaked as he shifted his weight on it. He didn’t like decimating nature, but what else was he supposed to do? Maybe if he knew a little bit of the magic that had given him his powerful poots in the first place, he could get rid of the eye-watering stink that accompanied them. But unless the government revoked their opinion on witchcraft, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. 

The lightbulb in his head flickered weakly. Maybe the log would _contain_ the brunt of his emissions! Hey, it wouldn’t hurt to try!

Curtis leaned forward, pressing a palm into his rippling gut. He tentatively relaxed his tightly-clenched sphincter muscles and abruptly evacuated the toxic burst into the old tree.

**_BWWWWUUUUUURRRRPPPPPBBBBBRRRRRMMMOOOOFFFRRFRRRPTttthhhhffffttthhtttt!_ **

The log amplified his already noisy flatulence to new heights. Leaves were shaken from their branches, boulders juddered out of place and tumbled down cliffsides. Birds threw themselves into the air, frantically trying to escape the terrifying clamor and the unimaginable stench that rose toward the sky. The noxious wave that leaked from Curtis’ rear-end singed the wood beneath his behind and poisoned the plant life that was unfortunate enough to be blossoming downwind of him.

“Oh crud,” he sighed, head sinking into his hands. He really couldn’t go anywhere without causing some kind of disturbance. But at least he felt a bit better… 

_A lot_ better, actually.

He inclined his body to the side, lifted a cheek and let out a succession of drafty farts, each one rumbling dimly as they passed through and out the other end of the hollowed log. He emptied his tank for ten minutes and when he thought he was done, he ended up farting some more. Go figure.

Eventually satisfied, Curtis got onto his feet and dusted off his rump. At first, he presumed the sound to be the echo of his most recent release, cascading through the woods before it disappeared into the distance. But his blasts were a lot more bass than falsetto.

_“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”_

Curtis’ eyes grew wide as the noise took a more recognizable form. It was a scream - a _human_ scream. Suddenly a tall boy burst through the bushes and pushed him out of his way.

“AHHHHH - _Move it, tiny!_ ”

Curtis grunted as he fell flat onto the ground. He scrambled to retrieve his glasses before the rabble stampeded over them.

“I think he went this way!”

“No, it’s _this_ way!”

A pack of werewolves had come after the screaming guy. They hadn’t even noticed Curtis, or his flatulence, which was a first, but from the looks of things they seemed to be mighty busy.

Curtis had always been a curious fellow (perhaps a tad more curious than sensible, his mother might say.) Though he knew he should use the fact he had gone undetected to his advantage, he tracked the group from a reasonable distance. Hey, what was the worst that could happen to a tough little guy like him?

He could get eaten, for a start. But Curtis didn’t consider this.

* * *

Dante, panting heavily and soaked with sweat, came to a reluctant halt. “No, no, _no!_ ”

His hammering heart shattered into a thousand pieces. There was no more trail to follow, no sacred path to lead him back to town. Instead, he was looking down and into the bottomless mouth of a steep ravine.

From a few paces behind, the lead werewolf lifted his head and howled triumphantly.

“Dinner time, boys!”

“Dinner?!”

“Dinner?”

“Dinner!”

Dante would’ve made a crack about their dog-like behaviour had he not been in such a precarious position. “Help! Somebody help me!” He wailed.

“Can we roast ‘em over a fire, boss?”

“Yeah, like a marshmallow!”

“Can it. We’re not actually gonna eat him, idiots,” the alpha spat.

“Oh, thank God,” the human rested a hand on his heart.

“Don’t thank him yet.” A chilling cackle showed off rows of glinting teeth. “That’d be puttin’ you out of your misery too soon. Nah, we want you _alive_ for this.”

The gang let out a round of devilish howls and prowled forward. Dante instinctively took a step back, remembering his situation only just in time. There was nothing but air and a deathly plummet beneath him.

_So this is how I’m going out, huh?_ _Friendless, failing anatomy, and with a legacy of a pants-pisser. Perfect…_

“Whatever you’re gonna do to me,” he whimpered, “make it quick.”

He shut his eyes tightly and prepared for the worst. The worst arrived moments later.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Curtis, without even thinking twice - or even once, actually - leaped out of his refuge in the shadows and stood protectively in front of the much larger human. His voice, permanently quavering and nasally, only managed to lift to a sort of demented shriek, but it was better than nothing.

He stared the pack down. The werewolves stared at each other in confusion.

“Huh?” They said.

“Huh?” Dante parroted, the color slowly returning to his pale face.

The alpha shot Dante a suspicious look. “Hey, is this dwarf with you?”

“Watch it! I’m not a dwarf,” Curtis snapped. It was obvious from his annoyance that it wasn’t the first time he had heard this insult. “People can just be short. It doesn’t automatically make them dwarves!”

_Am I dreaming right now?_ Dante thought. What actually came out of his mouth was a questioning “Uhhh…?”

“My thoughts exactly,” the alpha grunted. He towered so much over Curtis that he had to crouch down to address him. His breath was hot on the boy’s face and smelled faintly of kibble, but unlike Dante, Curtis had the sense to not point this out.

“Enlighten me, pipsqueak. What are you gonna do? You barely reach my knees!”

“I’d like to know this also,” Dante piped up from behind his fellow human. This knight in shining armor didn’t look very knightly. He was, as previously observed, rather vertically challenged. He was scruffy and dressed like a dork. There was a general air of unimpressiveness about him. And speaking of air - though it may been the smell of his own terror, Dante could’ve sworn he was picking up a whiff of stale farts.

Apparently, _this_ was his hero.

Curtis’ face remained scrunched up in what he thought was a menacing glare. He actually just looked like he had trapped gas, which, technically, he did. After a moment, it slowly smoothed out and reddened at the cheeks.

“I… uh… you know, I have no idea! Honestly, I didn’t even think I’d come out of those bushes. This whole self-defense thing is a bit of a new development for me.”

The werewolves exchanged puzzled looks.

“So… you don’t have a plan?” The alpha asked doubtfully. He was struggling to process this turn of events.

Curtis laughed as if they were old friends. “No way, man! Nothing like that!”

Dante smacked the heel of his hand into his forehead.

“Oh, just kill me now,” he moaned in despair.

The alpha blinked slowly. Humans were so, _so_ weird. He straightened his curved posture and took a deep breath, clawed hands resting nonchalantly on his hips.

“Alright. I’ll help ya out then. I’m gonna give you and this wise guy five seconds…”

“To run for our lives?” Dante suggested.

“Bingo!”

**“AHHHHH!”**

Resuming his usual screaming, Dante fled, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him. Curtis, after a delayed reaction, let out a panicked gasp and followed suit.

And true to their word, five seconds passed before they had a group of slobbering, deranged half-wolf men on their heels.


	3. Dante's Hero

"That was a great plan you had back there! In case you haven't noticed, we STILL have a bunch of brainless, mangy fleabags after us!" Dante seethed, thrusting branches and cobwebs out of his face as he barrelled aimlessly through the forest. 

Curtis didn't have to shove anything out of his way - he was small enough to duck underneath. Still, it wasn't all rosy. He was working double-time to keep up with the much faster Dante. These little legs were not built for endurance.

"I told you already! I didn't have a plan, that was all improv!"

"Yeah, like that wasn't obvious at _all!_ "

Dante reached out and tore back a hefty curtain of hanging ivy and wisteria. Without thinking, he held it open long enough to allow Curtis to pass through alongside him.

"Without you, I might've experienced the luxury of being digested by now," he stated accusingly. "But no! Thanks to your interference, the misery goes on!"

Curtis lowered his head to hide his flushed cheeks. The guy was right; he had grabbed himself a shovel and dug them an even deeper hole. But how could he justify his actions when he didn't even understand _why_ he did what he did? 

He couldn’t have stopped himself from jumping out of those bushes if he tried. Something had persuaded him, something he had never felt before - something _within._ It insisted he come to Dante's aid. An unseen force, convincing him that it what he was supposed to do, even if it _was_ senseless.

And he knew it wasn't just gas.

"You looked so scared and confused and _alone,_ " Curtis wheezed. "If what happened to you happened to me, I'd want someone to come help!"

Before he could fire his comeback, Dante's jaw clamped shut. The delicate film that concealed the memories of last Friday's incident was starting to tear open and threatening to spill everything back out again.

_I could've really used someone then, couldn't I? Even if it made things worse. At least it meant someone cared._

"Get over it already," he snapped under his breath, though his voice cracked miserably.

"What? What'd you say?"

"Nothi- ugh, just go away!"

Curtis was lagging behind and rapidly losing speed. He gathered his last few ounces of energy together and put it toward staying within Dante's range of hearing. "I thought I could fix things, man, but... I'm... I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, well, you should be, if that's what you consider helping!" Dante admonished over his shoulder.

Fearsome howls pierced through the air. The pack was getting closer.

Now feeling a combination of humiliation and terror, Dante raced ahead. He ignored the boy's calls coming from a few paces downwind. As far as he was concerned, he didn't owe that little guy a thing: not even as a fellow human in peril. He could find his own way out of this mess. It would serve him right.

The trees grew shadows as day turned to dusk. Dante had never been a religious man, but he prayed the sunlight would last for a little while longer.

* * *

Hunger was a supreme motivator. And when you were as hungry as this bunch, hunting was effortless.

"I can't wait to rip these rejects limb from limb," the lycanthrope in the lead gloated with a growl. 

"Dibs on the one with the big mouth!" A gravelly voice yelled from behind.

"No way! That freak's _mine!_ "

The second fastest breathed shallowly and concentrated on his next move. He was planning on jumping off the end of an upcoming rock and bagging himself the front spot. The first one there was the first to eat, after all.

Unfortunately, he had severely miscalculated how far he could jump.

"Not... if I... beat you to it!"

 _Smack!_ The second werewolf landed right on top of the lead. The two briefly tussled in the dirt until a reprimanding snarl from the alpha ended the brawl.

"Will you idiots knock it off?! We gotta concentrate! I'm losin' their scent here!"

Even though, judging by the unpleasant wafts, he was pretty sure one of those losers must've already shit their pants.

* * *

Now heading in a new direction, Dante's spirits soared as he recognized the dirt trail that led back to the start of Pershin Woods. Could this be it? Was his luck finally changing for the better?

"Oh, baby, I can taste it!" He cried, grinning manically from ear-to-ear. "Sweet, sweet, freedo- _**NO!**_ "

The path ran down the side of a dusty clearing. From there, it disappeared into a deadly tangle of nettles.

Dante skidded to a clumsy stop. He tugged at his hair in frustration. His chest heaved under the weight of an oncoming panic attack.

"But - but - there's nowhere else to _gooo!_ "

Finally catching up, only to lose his footing on an uncovered root, Curtis thudded straight into the taller boy's back. Apparently, there was another way to go.

_Down._

SPLOOSH!

He landed in the same place all of his rocks - except for that ill-fated one, of course - had landed previously. Not in the river, but in the shallow fly-ridden bog on the other side. 

Dante retched as he lifted his hands out of the peaty water. The chunky, swampy substance oozed between his fingers.

"Eugh!"

"AHHHHHH!"

And true to fashion, Curtis came shortly after, breaking the surface of the murk and causing a disgusting wave to wash over them both. Mud was in every crevice. Even the crevices mud should never, ever be in.

Dante spat out a mouthful and slowly turned to the stranger floating beside him. 

"If we survive this," he bared his teeth, "I'm going to strangle you."

Curtis shook his hair free of moss and debris. The rush he had felt going up against those wolves had been exhilarating. It was the bravest thing he had done in... well, ever! 

But he didn't feel quite so heroic anymore. In fact, he felt pretty freaking stupid.

He grinned nervously. "Duly noted."

The duo gasped as the howling grew closer. The werewolves screamed in frenzied anticipation as they hurtled down the slope. Their impatience was furthering their transformation from man to beast; even from way down below Dante could see that their skin had broken out into layers of wiry fur and their pupils had turned to furious red slits. 

There was nothing remotely humanoid about these guys anymore. They were positively predators.

Dante and Curtis flopped like fish, trying to catch their grip in the slimy water and failing miserably.

"Move!" Dante growled.

"You move!" Curtis growled back... although his was more of a squeak.

"Now now, fellas," the alpha tutted playfully. "Don't you worry. _We'll_ help ya both out."

"But boss, I don't wanna get my feet wet..."

"Shut it!"

_I've cheated death once. I can't do it again. There's no way I'll do it again!_

And yet, Dante still tried. He tried because he had no other choice. He swam a bit, scrambled and slipped, swam some more, fumbled and fell, and eventually felt his fingertips clutch onto something sturdy. He endeavored to haul all one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of him up. And for the most euphoric second of his entire life, he was touching dry land, on the other side of the bog. The non-werewolf side. The _safe_ side.

He might just be able to...

He lost his grip. A certain messy-haired munchkin had bumped into him. Back down he went, acquiring a new coating of grime in the process.

 _"AGH!_ OH, you stupid little-!"

He yelled, and in frustration thrust his elbow into the shorter male. It was supposed to hit Curtis in the ribs. Instead, it hit him in his rumbling stomach. Their impending deaths at the hands _(or was it paws?)_ of this insane group had made him a little nervous. When Curtis got nervous, things tended to get... smelly. Really smelly. 

Curtis yelped...

 **_BBRRRROOOMFFRRRRRRRRRRRRBBBBBVVVVVFFFBBRRRBRRRUURRRBBBRRBBBLLGGGBBBLLRRFFTTTTT!_ ** ****

and let out his biggest fart yet.

The mushroom cloud was immense - more immense than that time Curtis had accidentally eaten spoiled Mexican leftovers - and had blood not been pounding behind his ears, Dante might've heard the distinctive notes of thick, thunderous flatulence. 

But he heard nothing. He felt it, however. He felt the bog's rancid water ripple around him. He felt the trees shiver. He felt the earth quake under the weight of the mighty gust.

And he smelled it _all._

His nostrils hurt before he even knew why. Then it hit him like a brick, if this brick happened to be formed entirely out of fecal matter. 

There was an odor, but no ordinary odor; this was a malicious, malevolent stink conceived simply to torture unsuspecting souls such as himself. It seized both of his nostrils and twisted them tightly in its horrible, sulfury hold. It clawed at his throat. It sizzled his eyes. Dante recoiled, throwing his hand over his mouth though it offered no protection from the fetor. 

To put it delicately... it smelled like a serious case of the shits.

 _Wait, isn't there something kinda familiar about this?_ He thought. But Dante didn't register this thought. He was too busy trying to see through the dense, brown fog that had surrounded him and the scruffy guy. No amount of fanning could make it budge.

Suddenly something heavenly rescued him from his suffering.

A swarm of scared squeals sounded from the banks of the bog. Dante turned around and watched in teary-eyed amazement as he saw that the pack were running away - or trying to, at least. They were the ones scrambling helplessly now, stumbling and falling over each other as they selfishly abandoned their fellow wolves in order to reach the top of the clearing first.

"Outta the way! _MOVEITMOVEITMOVEIT!_ "

"I can't breathe!"

"You can't breathe? I can't _see!_ "

The cries of horror faded over the side of the clearing's edge. Dante's mouth hung open in shock. He rubbed his stinging eyes, shut them and opened them again. He turned to the figure beside him with a raised brow. Curtis looked back apprehensively.

"Uh... I... um..." The boy started, his gaze awkwardly shifting downward.

"You're a _genius_ , tiny!"

"...come again?"

Dante sniffed the soiled air and, as expected, regretted it. After he stopped dry-heaving, he wiped his mouth and started over.

"So you're the guy who set off that killer stink bomb in the cafeteria two Tuesdays ago, huh? Takin' advantage of those super powerful wolf noses! Nice work, buddy! _Very_ nice!"

Curtis blinked. 

"I mean, I almost tossed my cookies that day, but I sure appreciate it now," Dante cheered, clapping Curtis on the back. "Good job!"

"Oh, that wasn't a stink..." Curtis trailed off. A grin was starting to spread across his face. "I mean - yup! That's exactly what happened!"

The werewolves were out of sight. They were safe. They were in the clear. Most of all, they were _alive._ Just... really, really dirty. So what? Dante could live with that! (Literally! Because he wasn't being crushed up inside a werewolf's digestive system!)

"This can't be happening," the brunette shook his head. Joyous laughter breezed past his lips. "We actually did it. We did it!"

A moment passed. Then he let out a whoop, punched the air and used the same fist to noogie Curtis' dark blonde hair.

" _Hahahaaaaa!_ Oh man, what a _rush!_ So what'd they call you? I'd like to know the name of my savior!"

He released him with a grin. The smaller male extended a mud-slathered hand, beaming cheerfully.

"Curtis Fergle, at your service!"

"Err..." Dante stared at it, then slowly entwined his hand with Curtis'. It made a grotesque squishing noise against his palm. "I'm Dante Dinmont. I can't believe I've met someone with a worse name than me."

Curtis snorted and happily shook their hands together.

"But really, man. Thanks for saving my ass. I owe you big time," Dante smiled warmly.

"Ah, don't mention it," Curtis shrugged pleasantly.

"Couldn't ask you for another favor, could I? You don't happen to know the way back to the park?"

Curtis' gaze was gloomy as he surveyed their remote location. "I'm not gonna lie to you... _no._ But hey, that doesn't mean I can't improvise!"

"Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well for you last time, huh?" Dante deadpanned.

He breathed out a big, long sigh of much-needed relief and gestured forward. Improv or not, he'd take it.

"After you, mon _frère."_


	4. Dante and Curtis (or Curtis and Dante)

Curtis led them to the river, where they continued their journey downstream, enjoying the cleaner water, the cooler air and the sight of hundreds of fireflies waltzing in the night.

Dante dipped his hands into the fresh aqua and washed his sludge-coated face. "So what's a guy like you doing all the way out here by himself, anyway?" 

Curtis stalled, then made a vague gesture with his hand. 

"Oh, you know, just... taking a stroll."

"Huh. Weird place for a stroll, dude."

The brunette splashed some of the cold liquid onto his clothes and started to scrub at the stains with his fingernails. He heard a questionable squeak, sort of like a balloon deflating, but this observation went ignored.

...that is until an extremely potent smell materialized, and he discovered it was coming from the direction of the male in front of him.

"What is - _phew!_ Whoa, okay!" He gasped out, blinking away the tears that were welling up in his eyes. "That's... _wow._.."

Curtis cringed as he glanced behind him. He had stupidly hoped Dante wouldn't catch his literal drift. "Something wrong, dude?" He questioned, praying the panic didn’t show in his voice.

"Don't you smell that?! Man, there must've been something stronger than mud in that swamp!"

"I _swear_ it wasn't-! ...oh."

Curtis' heart restored to a normal beating rate as he realized Dante still hadn't cottoned on to what - or, more specifically, _who_ was responsible for the sickening stenches polluting the evening atmosphere. 

Not wanting to take any chances, he promptly changed the subject. 

"Did you know those guys?"

"What guys?"

"Um, the ones that we just spent forty-five minutes running away from?"

"Oh. No, I don't," Dante laughed nervously. "I, uh... threw a rock at the head honcho by mistake."

Curtis let out a guffaw. Dante's expression remained the same.

"... wait, you’re serious?"

"Dude, trust me. That's not even the worst part."

He explained his fatal slip of the tongue. Curtis already knew about the disastrous outcome it had caused. Soon the two of them were laughing so hard they had to take a rest stop.

"Wait, wait!" Curtis held his aching stomach. For once, it wasn't aching because of the excessive amount of gas contained inside: the massive blast he had unintentionally fired at those werewolves had definitely helped to soothe his cursed colon, although he still had cravings to crack a few off (as per usual.) "You really asked them if they wanted to play fetch?!"

"It's a nervous thing," Dante groaned regrettably as he rubbed a hand down the side of his face. "I always make jokes when I'm nervous. I wish I just bit my nails or something. It'd make my life so much easier."

"Man, that's hysterical!"

"I'm glad _you_ find it funny. Christ knows they didn't."

Curtis snorted gleefully. "Heh! Fetch!"

He was thoroughly amused by this. So much so that his giggling fit didn't come to an end for several moments. As they wandered along, Dante turned to give the boy a fond look. 

"You know, Curt, I think we make a good team."

An awkward silence followed his statement. Dante swiftly swallowed the lump in his throat. Even he had to admit that comment had come out of nowhere. 

Unexpected heroism aside, there was just something about Curtis that appealed to him, and though he was too proud to admit it, he hoped he hadn't come across as too much of a wimp back there. He kind of wanted Curtis to find _him_ appealing, too.

Curtis squinted, head tilted sideways. "We do?"

"Yeah. 'course, you did most of the work but... I was there. To observe." Dante scratched at an itch on his neck. "And provide support. Which is the most important part... right?"

In the short space of time that they had shared together, he had discovered that the smaller male was as affable as they come. Curtis thought about it for a second, then his face broke out with another big smile.

"I guess you're right," he agreed. "And Curtis and Dante _does_ have a pretty nice ring to it!"

"I was thinking more Dante and Curtis, but sure," Dante grinned. 

Half an hour passed by before the set of splashes that accompanied their easy-going movements was reduced by half. Dante noticed that Curtis had stopped walking and was staring at something beyond the riverbank. 

"That's the path to the park over there," the blonde announced. "Takes you right up and over that hill."

The taller male trod water until they were standing side-by-side. He was surprised by his own hesitation, but he had now found himself reluctant to go home. 

Neither of them made a move.

"This is it," Curtis repeated. "The path."

"Sure is," Dante replied listlessly.

"Time to part ways. Maybe forever."

"Mmhm..."

There was another pause. Curtis shuffled his feet, turning to look up at Dante through dirt-flecked glasses.

"So you'll go back to all your buddies now, right?" he asked. "Friday night! Bet you've got real big plans, huh?"

Dante shrugged. "I guess so."

Another pregnant pause, this one somehow being more uncomfortable than the previous. Dante eventually prodded the silence by clearing his throat.

 _Time to get real, man,_ he thought to himself.

"Well, uh, it was nice meeting you, Curtis," he murmured.

"Pleasure's all mine, big guy," Curtis winked cheerfully. "Try not to piss off any other man-eating monsters, will ya?"

"Can't make any promises," Dante smirked. He slipped his hands into his drenched pockets and slowly waded out of the water. Neither of them had been lucid enough to realize that they were both heading in the exact same direction - there wasn't another way out of the woods than through the park. 

Curtis, not wanting to seem weird by following him, waited until Dante was climbing up the hillside before emerging from the river and shaking off the excess moisture.

_Ffffffffffffppphhhhhhhhhhfffffssssssssstt!_

With Dante safely beyond the Stink Zone, the gaseous boy relieved himself of a thirty-second bout of steamy flatulence. He tried his best to keep his relief on the down low. Boy, he loved having company, but he had needed that _badly._ The fireflies who perished in his expulsion wished they could've said the same.

He crouched by the water (letting out another couple of destructive puffs and further decreasing the firefly population) and allowed himself to stare longingly after the other male. For a while, he toyed with that strange feeling in his chest - the same feeling that made him jump out of the bushes in the first place. He attempted to unravel it to see if he could make some sense out of it. It wasn't a feeling he got often. It wasn't a feeling that he really understood. But it was a feeling that was making him happy; he was sure about that.

It was the feeling that Dante actually _liked_ him.

And it was a strong, assured feeling. He had no doubts about it. Maybe it meant something. Maybe it meant...

No, no. That was _dumb._ It would be sunshine and rainbows for a while, and then the inevitable would occur. He had managed to hold it in only by the skin of his teeth. He wouldn't be so lucky next time... if there _was_ a next time. 

At some point, the truth - the gurgling, rumbling, rotten-egg-smelling truth would burst out, and whatever bond had blossomed between them would curl up and die. Just like the flowers. And the fireflies.

_Still... if Dante actually wanted him around..._

As Curtis ruminated on the possibilities, Dante came to a gradual halt at the brow of the hill. He was having some feelings too.

His mother was a firm belief in trusting the innate wisdom of the gut, and she had instilled this belief on her only son from an early age. Dante did his best to listen to what it had to say. Sometimes it got a little confused. Most of the time it surprised him. And right now, all Dante's gut wanted was to spend some more time with this funny little dude who had, _technically speaking_ , risked his funny little life to save him. 

_Him._ Someone he didn't even know.

It also wanted nachos. Maybe he could solve both of his quandaries at the same time. He opened his mouth, hesitated a bit, then whistled to grab Curtis' attention.

"Hey, Curtis?" He shouted down the hill. "You don't by any chance wanna..."

It was like watching a cartoon. Curtis took off like Road Runner, achieving a speed neither of them knew was possible for someone with legs as short as his. He was breathless by the time he reached Dante. So breathless he collapsed against a nearby tree, and spent several moments coughing and wheezing, in which Dante watched helplessly, unsure of whether to assist him or not.

"...hang out?" Dante finished quietly, both impressed and concerned. Mostly concerned.

Still dripping wet, Curtis recovered, looked up and - after wheezing _again_ \- gave Dante a huge cheesy grin.

"Oh, man," he squeaked. "I thought you'd _never_ ask!"


	5. Farty Fergle

"I was right, as I knew I would be!" Dante proclaimed, lips smacking together satisfactorily as he licked his fingertips clean of salsa. "Nachos were a good call, huh, Curtis?"

_Ggggooouuuuurpp!_

In response, Curtis and his stomach groaned in unison. This bad case of bubble-guts was making the blonde nibble fearfully on his bottom lip. 

The curse was **_not_** happy.

But what else did he expect? Loading his bowels up with spicy junk food, then having the nerve to restrict his overactive sphincter from letting loose with even a single toot? Not his smartest move, and Curtis knew he would pay dearly for it. He just hoped he'd be _alone_ when the dark magic sought its reeking revenge.

"Heh, sure was," he forced a laugh.

"One left. You want it?"

"Nah, dude, you can have- _ohhh!_ "

A worrisome moan threw itself out of Curtis’ mouth. All that hot air was growing angsty inside his bloated gut, and before he knew it, his stomach was churning and a large pocket of gas was rocketing through his rectum. Curtis winced and squeezed his hands into tight fists, willing his southern exit to block the building bubble.

 _Not now,_ he begged. _Not when things are going so well!_

Dante cast him a look of concern. "Hey, you okay?" 

"Y-Yeah! I, ah, uh, I just..." The scruffy boy gulped as the commotion occurring inside of him grew even fiercer. Angered by his refusal to give in, the curse retaliated with an attack of acute abdominal contractions.

As gas swarmed his inflamed bowels and sharp, stabbing cramps spread out across his swollen stomach, Curtis felt his skin start to perspire from the amounting physical and mental pressure.

"...might've had a little too much to eat," he finished meekly, just as his stomach emitted another rumbling whine.

Curtis placed a hand on his sensitive belly and blanched. He could feel how severely his digestive system was toiling. And he had the experience to know this wasn't going to end well.

"Sounds like it," Dante chuckled. "Look, if you're gonna blow chunks, just make sure you're facing the _other_ way, alright?"

Curtis brushed his hand across his damp forehead. Oh, how he wished it would come out of that hole.

"You got it, chief," he replied as casually as possible.

While Dante busied himself with locating somewhere to dump their trash, Curtis subtly trailed behind, occasionally letting out grunts and gasps. If his tummy felt as awful as it did right now, he didn't want to know what the resulting eruption would smell like when his gaseous innards eventually got the better of him. 

Not that the odor mattered much to an ansomiac - but his farts didn't just foul the air with their stench. They changed the quality of it altogether. On especially bad nights, his room could get unbearably stuffy. _I hope they fixed the vent,_ he thought. If not, he'd have to think about sleeping out in the yard again...

"Look at the sky!"

The smaller male narrowly avoided opening his flatulent floodgates. He hadn't expected Dante to shout out so loud.

He glanced upward, noting the familiar sight and frowning at the other boy's animated reaction to it. A rich black sky dotted with thousands of twinkling, silver specks. What else was new?

"What about it?" Curtis asked.

"What'd you mean _'what about it'?_ There's stars!" Dante stared in astonishment. "Actual, real life stars!"

Curtis continued frowning. Maybe someone had snuck something into Dante's drink when he wasn't looking. "Uh... sure, dude. They're sort of always up there. Well, I mean, not during the _day,_ but-"

"Yeah, Curtis, I know how this works."

"Oh. Sorry."

"There was way too much artificial light in the city for the sky to ever look like that," Dante explained, his dreamy smile doubling in size as he did a three-sixty turn. Everywhere he looked, they were winking back at him. 

"We were lucky if we even saw the moon most nights. This is beautiful."

Curtis' confused countenance changed into a playful grin. An idea had formed in his head - the first one he had had that evening that wasn't completely irresponsible.

"You haven't seen anything yet," he enticed. "I know just the place! Wait until I show you... you... _oh no_..."

_GOOOOOoooOOOooRRRRG!_

There was an ominous lurch in Curtis' stomach. The curse had upped the ante while he had been distracted. A bulky globule of gas was slipping out of his clenched hole, and though his tired muscles tried to hold it back, they couldn't withstand the stress anymore.

**BBRRAABBRbbrRRrrroop!**

Curtis let out a quiet gasp as his rump let out a decidedly _not_ quiet explosion of blustery flatulence. Out of the corner of his widened eyes, he saw Dante flinch at the rowdy noise.

"Christ! What was _that?_ "

"I didn't hear anything!"

"It sounded like a..." Dante's jaw dropped in shock. His shoulders hoisted upwards as he violently retched. "Oh my god! What is that _smell?_ "

"I don't smell anything!" Curtis squeaked desperately, blushing from the tip of his ears to his toes. He shut his eyes and awaited his fate. He couldn't bear to look at Dante's face once he clocked who the culprit was.

"Yeah, just what I thought."

Hesitantly, Curtis opened his eyes again. He was surprised to find that the brunette wasn't accusing him. Instead, he was grimacing at a garbage pail at the end of the street.

"Somebody beat you to it, Curt," Dante said, wandering over to stuff the empty food carton into its overfilled mouth. A stream of bright yellow vomit was oozing down the side of the pail. "Yikes. I'll take whatever they're _not_ having!" 

Curtis blinked. Stunned by his own good fortune, he acknowledged how ridiculous his luck had been tonight; still, he hoped this streak wasn't thinking about ending anytime soon.

"Anyway," Dante wiped his hands on his shorts. "What were you gonna show me?"

"Oh, r-right! Follow me!"

* * *

There was a bench nearby, but the duo opted to lie down on the verge of the knoll instead. 

The soft moonlight painted the grass a shade of tranquil blue while crickets provided some atmospheric background noise. This place wasn't the most well-known stargazing spot; its visitors were often a little too busy swapping saliva on the aforementioned bench to take notice of the spectacular views. It was a hidden gem, and Curtis was thankful to finally have someone to share it with.

He thumbed his glasses back up his nose. "No wonder those wolves were so hostile tonight," he said. "You know, full moon and all."

"Yeah," Dante grunted. "I'm sure it had absolutely nothing to do with me reducing them to domesticated mutts."

Curtis let go with another lengthy round of dorky snorting before settling back down. His hand rubbed soothing circles onto his gut. It seemed that his most recent emission had helped to calm the storm.

"I gotta say," Dante began, still gazing in only somewhat-subdued admiration at the heavens above them, "this might have made the move worthwhile."

"You miss home much?" 

"Nah. Ever since my dad left, we've been moving around all the time. I'm trying not to get too attached. If you don't get attached, you don't get sad."

"Oh..." The bespectacled boy shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was a grade-a _jerk._ Always was. My mom deserves better. She's much happier now, and that's all that matters."

"And you."

"Huh?"

"You deserve better," Curtis said simply.

Dante glanced at him. It wasn't often that he found himself speechless, but he got pretty close to it.

"...uh, yeah. I guess so," he muttered shyly.

Smiling bashfully, he took another sip from his drink. He only realized that he might have swallowed it a touch too fast once he had accidentally let loose with a blaring belch.

"Woah! Dude!" Curtis laughed loudly. "Nice one, Dante!"

"Oh my _god,_ " Dante face-palmed. "I’m so sorry. I've got a black belt in ruining touching moments."

Curtis didn't see the need for an apology. If anything, he should be thanking Dante for giving him the opportunity to get rid of some excess gas (and let's face it, with Curtis, _all_ of it was excessive.) He wriggled a bit, puffed up his chest, and unleashed a monster three times the strength and length of Dante's.

Dante's mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"Seriously?! There's no way that just came outta you!" 

"Guess I needed it," Curtis grinned. A hint of embarrassment had colored his cheeks a faint tone of pink, but Dante didn't notice. "Your turn. You know, if you think you can beat that."

"I don't think, short stuff. I _know._ "

Dante gulped down the rest of his soda and tossed the cup aside. He sucked in a few deep breaths for additional power. After a couple of seconds, Curtis tapped the face of his watch in mock impatience. Dante laughed and held up a finger.

"Wait for it," he teased. Something rumbled distantly in his chest. Pressure formed in the base of his throat, and gradually began to rise up...

_BBBBBAAAAAOooooooooaaauuuuUUUOORRRRRRP!_

"Haha! Try that on for size!" Dante boasted. The burp fell a little flat in the middle, sure, but its overall magnitude was nothing to scoff at. "Now I _know_ you can't beat that."

Curtis propped himself up on his elbows and tilted his head back. He said nothing, only offering Dante a mischevious smirk. His hand pressed down on his abdomen and massaged his midriff. The gurgling and groaning of his overstuffed digestive system grew louder as part of the huge bloat broke off and traveled upwards. When he felt it stewing in his sternum, he whacked a fist into his chest.

_BBBBBOOOAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP!_

Curtis' roaring belch snapped through the air and echoed into the nighttime. Dante's face made it seem as though he had just witnessed a horrific murder. When the shock finally wore off, his mouth widened in a puckish grin.

"Oh, it is SO on!"

And so the contest began. For the next six minutes, the boys enthusiastically exchanged boisterous displays of oral gases. The serenity of the hillside was swept away in a hazy cloud of carbon dioxide and partially digested tortilla chips. Even the crickets moved on to less fragrant pastures.

_BBOUUUUUUUURP!_

"Oh come on, you didn't even try, man!"

_BBBOOOOoooorrrooooouuuuUUUUPPP!_

"That was pretty good. You know, if you were a six-year-old girl."

_BRRRAAAOOORRppp!_

"Two outta ten!"

_BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOURP!_

"Eugh! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

_BAAAAOOOooururrrrrrururraaap!_

_BBBBBoaaaaAAAAAOP!_

_ooOOOUUuuuuooouuuoooouUUUBBRRRP!_

_BBUUUUUOOOOOURP!_

**FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRMMRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPT!**

"Curtis!" Dante laughed uneasily at the humongous fart the other had unpredictably ripped. "Damn! Buddy, that's a _very_ different contest!"

**BBBRRROOOFFFRT!**

**FFFFRRRRRRrrrbbbvvvrrrrRRRRRBBBRRRLT!**

**VVVRRRRRRRRRBBBFFRT!**

"...Curtis?!"

It wasn't surprising that his voice went unnoticed over the sonorous symphony. Curtis was a little too busy conducting it all. 

**BRRRROOOOFFRRRT...**

**PRRRFFFRRMMRRRRPPPPPRrrrmmmmmrrrrpppppfffrrrooooorrrrlpppp...**

**BBBRRRAAABBBRRRRRFFFFRVVVRRLLRRRRT!**

**_BBLLMAMMOOOOOAOAAARPRPAPPPPPPRRAALLLLLLLLAAOAOOOOOORRRTTPPPP!_ ** ****

"Oooogh!"

Curled up as though he had been hit in the crotch with a bowling ball, the blonde gripped his churning, revolting stomach until his knuckles turned white. His eyes were welling up from the excruciating pain that coursed through his body and the strength of the atmosphere he had caused to become so horrifically pungent. The curse's payback for thinking he could hold in a few lesser-sized eruptions was filling his bowels up with a whole _night's_ worth of killer farts, and forcing him to relieve himself of them all in just under a few minutes.

It was as awkward and as uncomfortable as it sounded - for both parties involved.

**PPPPRRRBBBBLLLRRRAAAABBBRRRRPT!**

**VVRRRUUUFFRRMMMFFFRRRRRPT!**

**BBBBBOOOOORRRRFFFRRRRRTTTTThhhrhrrroooffrrmrrrrp!**

**FFFRROOOOOFFFHHHRRRMMMFFRRRRPT!**

**PPPPRRRRLLLRRrrrrpppfffbbbbooouuurrrrvvvrrrrrffllrrffrrrt! FFRRRRVVRRBBRROOURP! PPRRRRRBBBBRRRLLAAARRRAARpp!** **BBBBRRRRRLLLMFFRRRRRPT!**

Dante tugged the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose. He _wanted_ to leave, of course. It needed no explanation or justification; though should he be required to state one, being strangled with a stench so overwhelming he was starting to feel like he was about to pass out was a rather convincing argument. 

But he couldn't bring himself to budge. 

He had heard people talk about train wrecks, and how it was impossible to take your eyes off them. He always thought that had to be some kind of exaggeration. Who would want to voluntarily watch something so appalling? And in this case, so... well, _gross?_

Now he was beginning to understand. It was as mesmerizing as it was disturbing watching a situation that was so completely out of someone’s control.

Curtis was firing off big ones like there was someone - or something - actually _inside_ of him, blowing up his intestines like balloons. Had he known Curtis better, Dante would know that imagery wasn't far off from the truth. His intestines _were r_ apidly inflating and deflating, and Curtis gave a dismal moan as his incensed stomach rumbled and sloshed as the gas storm grew. Arms wrapped even tighter around his gut in a manner of consoling himself, but also to apply some extra pressure to help guide the ungodly flatulence out. 

His tummy was making it as distressing as possible for him. The curse wanted him to know that it wouldn't _ever_ allow that level of disobedience again.

The two of them had a rocky relationship, to say the least.

**THHHRRRRRROOOBBRRRPT! VVVVVVVFFFRRRMMMRRRRRRRRTTTTT! PPPRRRRRRAAARRPPPbbrbrbrbrrrrmmfffrrrooorrrpppppPPPRRRRLLLRRRVVVOOOOOOOOBURRRPPT!**

Dante's eyes bulged in shock. How he wished he had worn a watch - how long had Curtis been farting out endless, thrumming barrages of soiled air? Would it ever stop? Would they still be conscious when it did?

 _More importantly,_ he thought, as he had noticed that the grass around them had been scorched by the fumes that were propelling out of the blonde's round butt, _will I still have my eyebrows?_

He inched further and further away from the absurdly flatulent boy.

**FFRRRRRRRRRRBBBOORRT!**

**BBBOORRRT! BBRRRAABRPT! PRRRROOOFFRRT!**

**THHHRRRVVVVRRRRRBBRRRrrrbbbfffrrrRRRRRRRRRRRP!** **BBRRRRRFFFRRRPT!**

**BBBBLLLOOOOOUUUUFFFLLLLLLLRRRMMMRRRP!**

_Ppppssssssstttt..._

It was ironic that the final fart sounded an awful lot like a bomb hissing out. It had taken three long minutes of continuous wind-breaking for Curtis to be cured of his intestinal crisis. 

Disheveled and tuckered from the exertion, the boy exhaled graciously, sat upright, de-misted his glasses, and at once remembered that for the first time in a very _long_ time, he had an audience.

His pupils dilated. His throat dried up. Now the tears in his eyes weren't just because of the cramps. Dante stared at him, awe-stricken but not in a good way, and Curtis saw that his eyes were watering too.

"Dante, I can... it's not... l-let me explain-!"

But before he could, Dante pulled his shirt down and hurled out a (truth) bomb of his own.

"You're _FARTY FERGLE!_ "

* * *

Disheartened, Curtis covered his reddening face with his hands and tried not to blubber about what had just happened. Dante was on a high and rambling excitedly. While Curtis had been contending with his bewitched behind, he had experienced something of an epiphany. 

“I can’t believe it took so long for me to… and that smell! I _knew_ I knew it from someplace! Everybody said there was some freak who couldn’t stop farting but I thought it was just a dumb joke!”

He paced in frantic circles around the stinky boy. Being in such close proximity to Curtis’ rancid flatulence might have driven him slightly bonkers.

“And it was you! It was all you! It’s real! You really are-”

“Farty Fergle, I know!” Curtis suddenly snapped. “Or Curtis the Cheese-Cutter! Or Clear-A-Room-Curtis! Or Crack-One-Off Curtis! Or! …well, actually, I think that’s all of them…”

The air was still saturated with the dreadful fecal smell, but the initial surprise had worn off and Dante’s nostrils had adjusted just enough to make it tolerable to be near Curtis. He fanned the last few clouds of shit-scented mist away from his face and sat back down on his former spot.

“That was surreal,” Dante remarked amusedly. "I'm not a medical professional, man, but might I recommend rethinking your diet?"

Curtis sighed, lifting a cheek to let three big, beefy farts splutter out. The last one ended on a bit of a wet crackle. 

“It’s not my diet,” he muttered.

"Yeesh!" Dante pinched his nose and waved his entire arm to ward off the newest outpouring of concentrated stink. "I'd still lay off the nachos if I were you. God, do they always smell like that?"

"No, sometimes they smell like dandelions."

"Ha-ha," Dante rolled his eyes. "So what else is it then? There's got to be _something_ wrong with you, right?"

Curtis opened his mouth, then sighed again and shook his head.

"What?"

"You probably won't believe me."

"Try me anyway," Dante insisted.

Curtis resisted for one more moment. Then, softly, he revealed, "I'm cursed."

At first, Dante didn't say a word. He was waiting for Curtis to follow up his statement with a cheerful _Sike! Gotcha! I had ya fooled, didn't I?_ There was no way Curtis could be telling the truth. Not in this day and age.

But when that didn't come, he blinked and scooted an inch closer to the other.

"For real?"

Curtis nodded solemnly.

"Like cursed-cursed?" Dante specified, his interest growing. "Like ancient-dark-magic-cursed?!"

"Just call me Cursed-Cursed Curtis. Oh," Curtis blinked. "I guess that's another nickname."

"But how? When did this happen?"

"I was eleven, I think. Might've been twelve."

Dante quickly did the mental math. They didn't have any classes together, but he figured he and Curtis were around the same age.

"But that kind of magic was already illegal _way_ before they banned everything else," he reminded the other.

"That didn't stop it from happening to me, did it?" Curtis at last met his eye. He could see Dante wanted to know more. 

" _Fine._ Go on. Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"You know what I mean."

"Well... do you know who did it?"

"Sure do."

"What?!" Dante yelled. "Who?! Are they still around?" He added anxiously, surveying their spot on the knoll, as though this person might be waiting behind a tree or hiding in a bush.

"No. Well, at least, I don't think so."

Curtis bowed his head and plucked a few strands of fart-singed grass.

"It was some woman my mom went to school with. My mom used to be popular. Really popular. You know, the cheerleading captain, queen-bee-type-popular. And when she wasn't getting her butt kissed by everybody else, she liked to make the non-butt-kissers lives miserable."

"Sounds about right," Dante murmured.

"One of those kids was this lady," Curtis explained, "everybody thought she was weird 'cause her parents were in this... cult, thing. I guess they figured she was gonna turn out the same way. My mom loved picking on her, until one day she took it way too far. I mean, _really._ She never told me what she did, but it must've been bad because the lady never forgot about it."

"And how do you enter this picture?"

"When she grew up and she learned some magic of her own, she decided she'd come back to town and pay my mom a visit." Curtis paused. "And I was there too," his voice trembled. "My mom was always hosting parties, and one night she hosted this _huge_ reunion dance in our ballroom and-"

"Wait, she invited this weirdo?"

"No, but the weir - the _lady_ found out about it somehow. My mom's parties used to be a big deal, man. Everybody talked about them. But they always bored me, so I decided I'd go play in the woods near our house and when I got there, there was this woman with long hair and dirty nails and black robes, and she was wandering around looking real lost and I-"

"You went and helped her. Right?"

Curtis frowned and tilted his head. "How'd you know that?"

"I've noticed you've got a habit of helping the helpless, Curt,” Dante gave him a tired smile. Curtis couldn’t manage a smile in return.

"She told me she was looking for the party," he continued, his voice and gaze lowered in shame. "She acted like she and my mom knew each other pretty well. She said she had this special gift she wanted to give her."

Curtis heaved a great sigh, and Dante saw regret written all over his face.

"But I didn't realize just _what_ she meant by that..."


	6. Curtis' Tragic Back(side) Story

The prim and proper occupants of the grand ballroom could only stare, their collective shock rendering them stupefied. 

The woman and her haggard appearance were not a sight to behold. She wore clothes made of fabrics that had long since been considered unfashionable. Her bushy hair was unruly, unkempt and clearly hadn't been shampooed in quite some time (and likely hadn’t been conditioned even _once_ in her lifetime.) The skin on her face sagged. Comparing her facial features to a bulldog would've been a harsh truth, but the truth nonetheless.

But that wasn't what was making them stare. Regardless of these outward traits, she exuded an energy, something from within, that had each of the guests feeling unsettled and wary. They all sensed it as soon as she stepped into the room. There was a menagerie of creatures in attendance, from goblins to centaurs to harpies to pixies, but whoever this woman was; or whatever she was, it was _not_ like any of them.

"Curtis?"

The party's hostess, a lofty, elegant figure with fair skin and icy blonde hair, removed herself from the stunned throng, gracefully lifting the hems of her satin dress to avoid ripping it with her bejeweled heels.

"Curtis, where have you been? And who is this?" she asked, emerald eyes narrowing with concern at the stranger.

Already undersized, the young boy shrunk in the presence of his mother. 

"She told me she knew you, mom, I p-promise!" He pleaded, the words tumbling out of him erratically. He had a terrible feeling that he had done something very wrong by bringing her here, but it was much too late for him to send the abnormal lady on her way. "She said she knew all of _them_ , too!" 

This caused the lifting of a few eyebrows, as the guests scrutinized the visitor more closely. There were whispers and curious mutterings but not one of them could put a name to the ugly face.

The stranger's cracked lips spread in an unnerving smile. Long, dirty fingernails kneaded firmly into Curtis' tiny shoulders.

"Are you saying you've forgotten all about me? Come now, I don't believe that for a single second!"

She threw back her head to bark out a laugh. It was a nasty, glass-shattering howl that made each of their hearts skip a beat, for they all recognized the signature cackle. 

Especially Curtis' mother.

It was one of the many, _many_ things she used to ridicule the woman for.

"Meredith," she gasped out. "It's - it's you!"

Now the crowd had realized not only who, but _what_ they were potentially in the presence of. Some of the guests cried out in alarm. Some even began to cough and fidget, guilt rolling off them in waves.

The hostess steeled herself.

"I mean - of _course_ it's you! My, what a surprise! Why you haven't changed a bit, have you?" She forced a cordial smile onto her repulsed face. "I... _we_ didn't expect to be seeing you here..."

"Such a fine boy you have here," Meredith's murky eyes gleamed with mischief as she patted Curtis on the head. "He's Sterling's double, isn't he?"

The other flinched at the mention of her late husband. "Oh! Ah, I wasn’t aware you knew his fath-"

"And so well-mannered, too," the stranger butted in. "Tells me he's on the soccer _and_ the baseball team. Tells me he's got lots of friends."

Curtis' mother interpreted this remark as something to be challenged, so she cleared her throat, pressing her lips together tightly as her gaze broke away from the other woman to fall disapprovingly unto her son.

"I wouldn’t say lots," she opined.

The delivery of the comment made Curtis blush and look the other way. The stranger's mouth pulled back to bare a set of decaying teeth. 

"I see. But I'd expect nothing less, coming from such a _noble_ family." 

The hostess rolled her eyes. She didn't care so much for the sarcasm and backhanded compliments. But this interruption had ruined her party's atmosphere, and the last thing Celia Fergle would stand for was a ruined party.

"Meredith, I hate to be awkward-" She made a point of gritting her teeth and raising her voice for the benefit of the crowd, "but you weren't _invited._ "

"I know. But if you would permit me the privilege of lingering for only a moment longer, I'd like to give you something. I've worked day and night to prepare it for you. I wanted it to be just right."

“Huh. And what, exactly, could _you_ give _me?_ ” 

“Oh, you’ll see, my dear. You'll see.”

The woman stepped back, creating some distance between herself and the boy. Celia scrunched her brow in bemusement. There was no decorated box or neatly wrapped parcel in the other woman's arms. In fact, she couldn't even see a card.

 _Cheapskate_ , she thought with a guffaw. _Nothing’s changed._

"I don't understand..." she began innocently, only to be interrupted by the startling reaction coming from her guests.

Anyone who went to their school knew the type of stock Meredith originated from. There had been a steady flow of rumors and assumptions all throughout the years that she would follow in her ancestor’s corrupted footsteps and enter the family business, so to speak. But once they had graduated, no one had learned what had become of the cult's daughter. 

Now they knew.

From the pockets of her heavy robes, Meredith had produced a wooden wand.

"Meredith, what are you doing? Put that thing away! You know the law!"

"Did you actually think I had forgotten about what you did to me? That I'd ever let you get away with _countless_ instances of undeserved derision and mistreatment? Naive sow!” She cackled proudly, _viciously._ “Everything has a consequence. And it's about time you learned that, you spoiled brat!"

The witch took a deep, preparatory breath as her mouth started to form the shapes of syllables unfamiliar. Shoulders rose from their permanent slouch as she lifted her hands to the air and began to cuss out a vile stream of foreign malice -

"Aw, Curtis, come on, dude!" Dante's whooping coughs sliced right through the memory. "You couldn't even warn me?"

"Sorry.”

“I’m gonna need a little bit more than that! My nose is on fire!”

“My butt's too tired to hold it in, man. It’s hard work, you know."

"Can't you at least _try?_ I don't want to die before you finish the end of this stor - did you just do it **_again?!_** "

"...cheese was a mistake..."

"No shit! Alright, c'mon. Continue. _Quickly._ "

"Okay, okay - wait, where was I?"

Oh, yeah. The mystical chanting seemed to last a lifetime. And not once during her recital did the witch take her eyes off the youngest Fergle. 

By now, Curtis had noticed that he was surrounded by faces contorted in terror and panic. Some of the guests had even run out of the room! He glanced helplessly at his mother, wondering what everyone else understood that he couldn’t work out.

"M-Mom? Is everything okay?"

**_B A N G!_ **

A cloud of viridescent sparks shot out from the end of the wand and hit Curtis in his chest. He jumped at the noise, but his only other reaction was to casually brush them off his clothes. They dissolved underneath his fingertips; unbeknownst to him, they had absorbed into his skin.

Nothing else happened.

As silence encompassed the ballroom, one guest started to laugh with relief. Then two. Then three. Soon everyone was laughing and mocking the witch. And just as it was back then, Curtis' mother was at the head of it all, relishing in another's humiliation.

"That was cute," she bit, "but I think you need more practice."

The witch smiled knowingly to herself. Their cruel laughter was drowned out by a threatening, low-pitched rumble, and a harsh, high-pitched cry. 

Now everyone was staring at Curtis again - the source of these noises.

Celia ran to his aid. "Curtis! Oh, Curtis, what's wrong? What's the matter with you?"

Curtis shuddered and grabbed his stomach. Something very unpleasant was happening inside of him, but he knew he'd be scolded if he dared to elaborate on what it felt like. 

"Mom," his voice wavered uneasily, "I... I don't feel so good..."

Meanwhile, Meredith was making her way around the room. Each of the remaining guests received a party favor on her behalf. When it came to the turn of Celia, however, she feigned disappointment.

"Shoot. Seems I didn't bring enough with me." She held up the last wooden clothes-peg to her face and snapped it in two. "You'll just have to make do without, my dear!”

"Get away from me!" Celia demanded. "Get away from my son! Get _out!_ "

_GgggGgggggGggrrRrRrRrRuuuuoooorrrrgle..._

The witch eyed Curtis as his stomach let off another watery growl.

"Believe me, no one will be sticking around for much longer. I'd give him ten seconds," she advised. "You can count down, if you like. Make a game of it. This _is_ a party, is it not?"

She turned and clapped her hands at the windows. Each of them slammed shut and locked, along with all the doors and any other form of entry for fresh air or exit for gagging guests. The trapped crowd were left wondering as Meredith slinked into the shadows, disappearing without another word.

"Mom?"

Celia was far too busy burning up with hatred and agitation and, surprisingly, _remorse_ , to notice the odd look on her son's face, or the rampant sloshes and pops and gurgles that were coming from his belly.

"What, Curtis?"

"I..." He gulped nervously.

“ _What?!_ What is it?”

“...I kinda feel like I'm gonna..."

**_FFFFGGGGGGGOOORRRRRRHHHHHRRRTUUURRRRBBPPPRT!_ **

"Yeah, Curtis, I could've guessed that!" Dante snapped, plugging his nose as the air was violated once again. He really hadn't required a demonstration.

Curtis laughed sheepishly and waved a hand near his backside. 

"Woops. That was just good timing, I swear."

"Sure it was,” Dante grunted, unconvinced. “So you blew off big time, huh?"

"It was beyond _big time._ We couldn't shut our windows for a whole week," Curtis mumbled. "Safe to say, that was my mom's last party."

"Well, at least it went out with a _bang_ , huh? Get it? Bang? As in-"

As he often found himself, Dante was laughing heartily at his own joke. Curtis was not.

"... sorry. So what happened then?"

"Well, it didn't stop," Curtis answered plainly. "No matter what we tried, no matter _who_ helped us, I always had to... y’know...”

Dante shuddered as a sudden blast of stale warmth socked him in the nostrils.

“Aw, Curtis!”

“Okay, that one was on purpose.”

“Christ almighty. It’s like sitting next to a volcano.”

“I thought my mom was gonna lose her mind,” the blonde continued. “She didn't know what to do with me. She was too embarrassed to send me back to my private school, but we couldn't find a tutor who would stay for more than a day. And when I did go back to school..."

Curtis flopped onto the grass with a spiritless sigh.

"Nobody wanted me on the soccer team anymore. Didn't want me on the baseball team, either. Nobody wanted me _anywhere_ ,” he moped. “They kicked me out, eventually. Told my mom I'd never fit the mold of a model student if I was like this."

Dante winced. "Classic case of comeuppance, huh? The weirdo witch kid finally getting her revenge."

Curtis nodded in wordless agreement, then leaned to the side and farted profusely. Dante grimaced and shielded his nose from the oncoming stench.

"Whew! Sucks it had to be you, though. Why couldn't she just curse your mom instead? It’s not like _you_ were the jerk."

"Yeah, but my mom's not in school anymore. I guess Meredith wanted her to experience what it was like to be that age, and going through all the crap she was put through 'cause of what she was," Curtis explained. His voice dropped down another notch.

"Not that my mom was all that happy with me _before_ it happened..."

"What'd you mean?" Dante asked.

"I've... never really lived up to her expectations, you know? I wasn't popular. I wasn't cool. I'm definitely not either of those things now," Curtis laughed emptily. "I've never been the sort of kid she wanted. I don't think she ever liked me. Getting cursed didn't help."

Something that was buried a long time ago started to stir inside of Dante. He knew all about disappointing your parents: his dad had never been impressed with the person he turned out to be and part of him couldn't help but think it was a major factor in his decision to leave their family. Not that Dante cared about him, or what he thought about his son.

He cared about Curtis, though.

"Hey, now, it's not all bad, man," he offered gently. "At least you've got your friends, right? ... _right_ , Curtis?"

Curtis said nothing, though Dante saw his lip quiver. The taller boy cringed. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to wring his own neck, although having to wallow in the awkwardness he created turned out to be just as punishing.

"Curtis, I’m... oh, Curtis, I didn’t know..."

"It's not like I didn't try! I tried everything!" Curtis' nasally voice was starting to break. "I signed up for every team, every club, every society! I tried _all_ that stuff. But it never works out. Not for me."

"But what about the friends you had _before_ it happened? You had friends then, right?"

"They ditched me as soon as I cut one. Or nine. Might've been the ninth one that finally drove them away," Curtis chewed self-consciously on his lip, then let out a dismal moan, “it's the same story every time. I didn't have anybody in high school. And there's not a group in the academy that I haven't tried to make friends with. Everything's fine for a while, then as soon as I let one go, they tell me to go. Away. _Very_ far away."

"What, even the trolls?" 

Curtis' stomach gurgled and he noisily broke wind.

"Even the trolls," he admitted as the toxic miasma spread out around him. "They told me I make them feel nauseous."

Dante tried not to choke on the fumes. He failed. Miserably. " _Oy_... it's that bad, huh?"

"It stinks!" Curtis whimpered, unintentionally dislodging another loud and smelly fart.

"Aw, tell me about it!" Dante coughed and frantically waved the wretched air away. "And you're... hey! Where're you going, man?!"

While he had been busy trying not to die of asphyxiation, Dante hadn't noticed Curtis getting up and walking off. He had almost reached the street below them by the time he did.

"Curtis, come back!" Dante shouted after him. But Curtis continued on his self-exile, and Dante could just about make out his tearful lamentation from the bottom of the hill.

_"I can't do it! I just can't face this kind of rejection again!"_

Dante sighed, cupped his hands around his mouth and pulled together all the oxygen he had left in his lungs.

**"CURTIS FERGLE!"**

He watched the blonde come to a standstill as his booming voice carried down the hillside. Curtis slowly looked over his shoulder.

"Get your funky little butt back up here _right now, mister!_ " Dante commanded. When the blonde eventually returned to the top of the knoll a couple of moments later, the brunette pointed to the space where he had been lying down.

"Sit down," he ordered. "Sit back down on that... the patch of grass you burned, somehow. I don't want to know how. Just sit."

Curtis remained on his feet. He couldn't meet Dante's eye.

"You... you don't want me to get lost?" 

"Curtis."

"But aren't my farts too-"

"Curtis! What did I _just_ say?"

Curtis hesitantly sat down. He looked suspicious, but Dante supposed this hadn't ever happened to him before.

"Curtis, if it really, truly bothered me, why would I still be sitting here willingly smelling your butt funk? Didn't that thought _ever_ cross your mind?" 

"But you're so cool," Curtis shook his head. "I don't get it. Why would someone like you ever wanna be around someone like me?"

"Have you ever considered that _you_ might be cool too?"

"Cool guys don't stink," the blonde stated matter-of-factly.

"I beg to differ." Dante laughed. "Look, it's not a big deal, man. It's just..."

He trailed off. His nostrils were burning again. No prizes for guessing the reason why.

"Oh my god! _Dude!_ I was trying to have a touching moment with you!"

"Sorry..."

Dante couldn't stop the tears from streaming down his face as he tried to recover his breath. At least it gave him some extra time to come up with what to say.

"It's just gas," he rasped out, blinking his stinging eyes, gagging a bit more, then giving Curtis a weary but warm-hearted smile. "It's just gas, man. So you're a little, you know, _fragrant._ So what! Plenty of worse things to be than gassy, right?"

"That's what I've been saying!" Curtis squeaked. "Okay, _sure_ , I might make people faint now and then, and my mom told me I burned a hole through one of our sofas last week, but it's not like I've killed anybody!"

"Exactly," Dante croaked. "Exactly, buddy."

Slowly but surely, Curtis' characteristic smile returned to his freckled face. He looked happier than a dog with two tails.

"So you really don't mind it? You're okay with my smell and stuff?"

"Hey, don't get me wrong, it'll take some getting used to," Dante wiped the back of his hand underneath his dripping eyes. "But quite frankly, I'd rather deal with toxic butt poisoning than a whole summer all by myself."

Curtis' smile started to fade. "You... haven't made any other friends yet?"

"Oh, no, I have," Dante shot in defensively. He still felt the need to defend his pride - or what he had left of it. "I mean, I _had._ I had a whole group, actually. Heh."

Dante chuckled mirthlessly and wondered why things had suddenly gone quiet.

"Ah, is it my turn to share a tragic backstory? Okay, well... let's see. Once upon a time, there was a boy who-"

Curtis raised his hand in the air.

"...yes, Curtis?"

"Has this story got anything to do with you pissing your pants?"

"How do you-?!" The color faded from Dante's face before being replaced with a dark, crimson blush. "How do _you_ know about that?" 

Curtis looked around nervously and cleared his throat. "Lucky guess?"

Now it was Dante's his turn to flop onto the grass and try not to cry.

"Of course. Of course you do! Cause everybody in the school knows about it, don't they? _Fuck!_ "

"Maybe we should start a club," Curtis suggested. "For people who can't control their bodily functions. It'd be super depressing, but we could get matching jackets!"

"Even matching jackets wouldn't help," Dante grumbled.

"Do you wanna…" Curtis shrugged. He didn't want to impose, but the last thing he wanted to do was come across as uncaring. "You know, talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" Dante hissed. "I pissed my pants. Now my friends don't want to talk to me, I get called all sorts of shit, people keep throwing coupons for adult diapers at me, end of story. It’s over. Nothing else to say."

Even though there was a lot more. A _whole_ lot more. But Dante wasn't quite ready to talk about those parts yet.

He huffed and folded his arms across his chest.

Curtis perched himself beside the taller boy.

"You know, I've had a lot of alone time to reflect since I was turned into a walking whoopie cushion," he began consolingly. "And no matter what happens or how embarrassing it might be, I think friends should always stick together. They shouldn't care what everyone else says about you. They should only care about how _you_ feel. That's like, the whole point of friendship, right? Having someone in your life to help you get through all the crappy stuff?"

"You might be onto something there," Dante muttered drily.

"And personally, I don't think pissing yourself in front of everybody in the entire academy is all that big a deal either..."

"Look, Curtis, can we move past this? I've spent all week beating myself up about it. I've also spent the entire week having everyone _else_ beat me up about it," Dante groused. "I just wanna forget it."

"Sure! But if there's anything I can do, I'm here for ya, buddy," Curtis nudged him affectionately.

The gesture prompted a small, weak smile on Dante’s face, but no more than that.

"I appreciate the offer, dude, but let's just... enjoy the stars, alright? That's what we came up here to do."

The rest of the evening was spent on that knoll. Dante might've thought it was the stars he was most looking forward to, but what he really ended up savoring was the company (as odorous as it could be at times.)

For most of the night, they didn't say much about anything. Neither of them minded. Wasn't there something to be said about feeling so comfortable and at ease in someone else's presence, even when neither of you were saying a single word?

Well… 

It was _mostly_ silent.

"Uh, Dante?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay if I... uh... you know..."

Dante could hear the urgency in his pungent pal’s voice. "Say no more."

He fished out a spare napkin from his pocket, shredded it into two pieces, and wedged them up a nostril each.

"Do your worst, short stuff," he winked encouragingly.


	7. Dante Hates Mondays

Dante was meditating. Or taking a power nap, or maybe both. 

Breaking through a thin covering of fluffy clouds, the aureate rays of early morning sunlight shone gently upon his face, and their warmth enveloped him like a newly laundered blanket. The air was cool, but not _too_ cold. His breathing was calm and rhythmic. Everything around him was peaceful. Still. Serene.

Then Curtis arrived.

"Dude, that is one _sick_ mailbox!"

Dante grudgingly opened his heavy-lidded eyes. Normally Curtis' excited squeals were adorable to hear. But at this hour of the day? Not so much.

"I think you're the only person in history to have ever uttered that sentence," he drawled through a yawn, sluggishly rising to his feet from his spot on the sidewalk. "I'm glad you found the place okay."

Even though Dante was pretty sure their mailbox could give a lighthouse a run for its money.

Curtis gave the neon pink rectangle a friendly pat. "It's got personality. I like that! You know a little splash of color can seriously work wonders on your mood? It really helps to freshen things up now and then."

"You're not exactly who I'd call the authority on all things fresh, Curtis," Dante playfully waved a hand in front of his nose as the two of them started walking in the direction of the academy. "But my mom'll be thrilled you said that. Just don't blink too much around it, okay? I don't want you getting epilepsy."

"Honey!"

His mother's thick Northmarshen accent floated out from somewhere in the region of their front porch. She made her appearance moments later, furiously attempting to fix the lid onto a flowery lunchbox.

"Oh this _stupid_ thing! Where are you going so soon, D? Your train won't be here for another twenty minutes."

"We're gonna walk it today," Dante replied. "I could do with the exercise, and _this one,_ " he nudged Curtis, "doesn't do so well in confined spaces."

A curious look donned his mother's tired features as she made her way across the lawn. Her nose twitched at the unsavory smell wafting off the short-statured blonde.

"And, er, who is this one?" she asked, squinting.

"Mom, Curtis," Dante gestured from his mother to the boy and back again. "Curtis, this is Mom."

"Hey Mom," Curtis beamed cheerfully.

The woman inclined her head politely and would've introduced herself had the kitchen window not haphazardly swung open, and a young girl with pigtails hadn't bellowed out from the gap.

"Mommaaaaa, I can't find my lunchbox! I've checked _everywhere!_ "

"I've got it here, sweetheart," Dante's mother held it up and waved it at her. "Come out and say hi to your brother's new dwarf friend!"

"Not a dwarf," Curtis corrected under his breath.

"Curtis," Dante gestured to the approaching girl, "Fran-"

"This dwarf _reeks,_ " the girl interrupted with a scowl.

"...Curtis, Frankie," Dante finished, glaring at his sibling, who glared back with a smile so wholesome that even butter couldn't melt in her mouth.

* * *

Dante and Curtis weren't the only ones skipping public transport.

Some species had no reason to rely on such services. The flocks of harpies and griffins soaring overhead clearly found their method a lot faster and less crowded, and the same could be said of the minotaur herds marching down the street. And some students had little choice _but_ to make their own way - they were much too large to fit in a reasonably-sized train or bus or car.

Dante was happy to walk the journey. He was a city kid; on-foot traveling was his default. But today he was especially thankful to have Curtis' aromatic qualities as an excuse to avoid the train. There were certain travelers he'd rather not encounter.

"You ready for another Monday?" Curtis chirped. Unlike his darker-haired companion, he needed no help in finding a spring to put in his step.

"Oh, boy, am I! I didn't think the weekend would ever end!" Dante mocked in his best cartoon mascot voice. When he glanced at Curtis, it was obvious that the sarcasm had flown right over his head. 

"Okay, spill it, shorty. Did you take a caffeine pill or something? How are you _this_ happy?"

"Dude, how come you _aren't?_ This is the final stretch before summer starts!" Curtis inhaled and closed his eyes. "Can't you feel that buzz in the air?"

**FFRRRBBRRRRRPPBBBRRP!**

A sloppy explosion burst out of the seat of his pants before the boy even registered that he had a critical movement in his bowels. A satyr who had been trimming his bushes (with the use of his teeth, as no self-respecting satyr would reduce themselves to man-made tools in order to get a bit of gardening done) had unfortunately lowered his head right at the moment Curtis passed gas, and he ended up with a mouth full of magically enhanced flatulence rather than the delicious, chewy thorns he was aiming for.

Curtis' face flushed a shade of bright red. "Crap! 'scuse me, sir!"

The goat-man spluttered and coughed out a few bramble leaves. 

"Good Gods! Pah! _Eugh_... nice manners, sonny," he barbed. He covered his muzzle with his hand and harrumphed aggressively in Curtis' direction.

"No, but I can _smell_ the buzz," Dante grumbled.

He couldn't help his acerbic mood. He didn't have any energy left in him to put toward feeling perky and chipper, having spent the entirety of the previous night tossing and turning in his bed. His muddled mind was trapped in an infinite cycle of fretting over what horrors awaited him the next morning, or fretting about whether Liza and Tim and Paul missed him, or fretting about how much he was fretting. 

He was all too thankful to have had Curtis' company to distract him this weekend. Otherwise, he would've been stewing in his own stress for two whole days - and he'd undoubtedly feel a lot worse than this, if such a mental state was possible.

But not even Curtis' undying optimism could cheer him up now right now. Monday was here and there was nothing Dante could do about it. The butterfly rave happening in his stomach and the clamminess of his palms confirmed his worst suspicions.

He was still worried. He was still scared. He was _still_ fretting.

He hadn't noticed he was lagging behind until he felt a warm hand land on his shoulder.

"Hey, big guy," Curtis looked up into his eyes. "You good?"

Dante paused, toyed with the urge to vent out all his concerns, then shrugged the hand off.

"Sure I am," he mumbled.

"You know," Curtis respectfully lowered his voice, "my offer still stands if you wanna talk about what happened. It helps to talk about this stuff. It might make you feel better."

"Talking about it is the last thing I want to do, Curtis," Dante snapped, but he knew the blonde wasn't going to drop it. He exhaled heavily. 

"I'm just freaking out a little, okay? Last week wasn't fun. And I've got a feeling everyone's spent this weekend preparing to make the next three days even worse for me."

"You can't think like that, man," Curtis said. "It's not healthy."

"Ha!" Dante laughed lifelessly. "Easier said than done."

"But you can never be sure about these things, can you? And hey, maybe they'll have forgotten all about it!"

Curtis gave him his biggest, most buoyant grin. The taller boy stared back despondently.

Their conversation paused for a beat.

"...yeah," the blonde tittered in defeat. "You're right. They never forget."

Dante sighed and let his feet reluctantly pull him forward. Curtis, once skipping at his side, slowed to match his gloomy pace.

"Take it from somebody who knows all about being picked on," he started, "the worst thing you can do is let those jerks make you feel miserable about yourself. Being miserable won't get you anywhere. All you end up doing is going backwards. And you know what happens when you keep going backwards? You _die_."

"No, Curtis, that's sharks," Dante pointed out.

"Oh. Okay, maybe _you_ won't die, but your hopes and dreams and _spirit_ will die, and that's just as bad!"

"But how? How are you supposed to deal with it right there and then, when everyone's pushing you around and talking shit about you to your face?"

"The trick is not to react," Curtis instructed. "I just tune out. I sit back and I find my happy place. And no matter what," his voice took on a commanding tone, "I _never_ give into those negative thoughts."

"But why?" Dante growled. "What's the point?"

"Because I have all the reason to believe that there's better things waiting around the corner," Curtis told him with a simple smile.

"But-"

"Alright, you want an example?"

Dante sulked. Curtis didn't wait for an answer. He jumped in front of him and prodded a finger into his chest.

"You," he said. " _You're_ the example."

The brunette’s thick brows furrowed. "I am?"

"I always knew there was someone out there who wouldn't mind my curse. I didn't know where they were, or _who_ they were, or when we'd find each other, but I knew I had to keep moving forward so I'd turn the corner and meet them there."

Curtis’ mouth widened in another grin.

"And then I met you! Granted, it wasn't around a corner, and there was a lot more sharp teeth and running for my life involved than I imagined, but it still happened. I still found my someone."

Dante struggled to stop his lips from forming a touched smile.

"You know I had more fun this weekend than I've had in _years?_ " Curtis continued, fuelled by the sight of Dante's lifting mood. "One day with you makes those years of being alone and made fun of feel like nothing. You made it all worthwhile, man. I can't thank you enough."

Dante shook his head and turned away to discreetly rub at his eyes. They were starting to well up.

Curtis clicked his tongue sympathetically. "Aww, dude, it's okay. You don't have to cry. Or, actually, if it helps, just let it all out!"

"I'm _not_ crying," Dante deadpanned. "You keep ripping SBDs. My eyes are burning."

"Oh... sorry."

Dante wiped his eyes and snorted. "Still. That was pretty sweet."

"We're gonna get through this, buddy boy," Curtis strove to wrap an arm around Dante's shoulders, but it was soon made very clear to him that he couldn't reach that high. He settled for patting him on the back instead. "You're talking to an expert pariah! I'll teach you everything you need to know. Welcome to Social Outcast 101."

"This might be the one class I actually get straight As in," Dante rolled his eyes.

A thunderous clamor raised the hair on the back of their necks as they neared the entrance to the academy. A group of centaurs - not just any centaurs, but the _show_ centaurs - were following the same route, and judging by the way they were shoving and pushing each other in an effort to claim the lead spot, they couldn't wait to get to class. Either that or they were trying to get a little extra practice in before next weekend's championship races. 

Curtis and Dante watched as they passed them by in a flurry of muscles and finely groomed hair.

"You think those guys would give you a ride if you paid them?" Dante asked. "Not that that's been a lifelong dream of mine or anything."

Curtis couldn’t give any thought to the question. There was something upsetting his delicate insides; a sensation strong enough to make him anxiously distribute his weight between his feet and nibble on his lip. 

"You know, that reminds me. We, uh, might have to make a quick rest stop before my class starts..."

* * *

The fact of the matter is, different sized creatures take different sized dumps. And the academy, host to a vast variety of species, had to account for this.

Dante _just_ avoided stepping down into a steaming pile of horse manure. He knew there was a reason he had never spent much time around this side of the school. Casting a restless look at his flatulent tour-guide, he stiffly cleared his throat. 

"Please don't tell me the curse affects how you... er... visit the little Curtis' room, does it?"

Curtis giggled. "No, it doesn't. But you'd be surprised about how I-"

"I don't need to know," Dante cut him short. "What I _do_ need to know is why we're standing outside the centaur bathrooms."

One such centaur barged past them and shouldered open the heavy stable door. Curtis looked down at his stomach. It was deceptively flat, but there was a heaviness inside that he couldn't deny.

"Uhm, well, I might've... _just_ might've... had an inappropriate breakfast, and I don't want my Ancient Texts class to hate me even more than they already do."

With an abrupt intestinal rumble as his cue, he hurriedly led Dante into the high-ceilinged room.

The stable was surprisingly tidy. There were sixteen stalls on each side. Each individual compartment had three tiled walls, a selection of high-end grooming tools, and was kitted out with its own state of the art hand-and-hoof washing station. Incredibly, only one or two of the stalls had been graffitied or destroyed (the same acclaim could not be said for the orc bathrooms.) 

The academy hired farm-hands to take care of the, er, _business_ , that went down in here; that is to say, there was still a noticeable stench in the air, and it wasn't just coming from Curtis.

The blonde's stomach let out another long, anguished gurgle. Dante raised a brow and moved away from him. He had only been buddying around with Curtis for a few days but he had briskly learned to heed those noises.

"How inappropriate are we talking, Curtis?" he queried cautiously.

**BbBBBbBbRRrrRrRrRUUUFFFMMMmmmphhhrrr.... RRRRRFFFLRRRT- _POOT!_**

A moist clap of musty thunder made a hasty departure from Curtis' back passage. The deep-toned fart droned on for several seconds, seemed to come to an end, then suddenly found its second wind and revved back up for another five seconds, before finishing on an adorably high pitched squeak.

Curtis grinned nervously as his rear-end racket died down.

"Heh, uh... three-cheese-omelet inappropriate...?"

"Curtis!" Dante scolded, reeling back from the heinous stink. "Did we not establish that you and cheese don't exactly have the greatest rapport?!"

"We did," Curtis admitted over the sound of his bubbling belly. "It was a tummy says no, heart says yes kind of situation, y'know? You had to be there."

**BbbbRRRMMRRRRROOorrrrpppllppplllpplllpp!**

Curtis groaned and held his stomach just as another greasy bubble purred out of his butt. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip when the large fart concluded on a sweaty splatter. Dante couldn't tell if it was from relief or remorse.

"I think your tummy's saying something a little stronger than _no,_ " he remarked, hurrying after the blonde as he started legging it down the stable's corridor. "But that still doesn't answer my question. Why are we-"

"Perfect!"

Curtis' cry came from the very last stall in the room. It was clearly the most neglected of the bunch, with several tiles cracked badly enough to expose the brickwork underneath. The floorboards were moldy or, in some places, completely rotted away.

Dante blinked. "I guess we have different definitions of perfect," he muttered.

"I stink out the normal bathrooms with just a couple of blasts," Curtis explained. "But this place always smells bad, so my farts don't make much difference here."

"Are you kidding me?"

They heard the voice (and the unimpressed neigh) before they saw who it belonged to. A bearded centaur with a shiny black hide plodded into the opposite stall, his face screwed up arrogantly as he studied the mismatched duo.

"You smell worse than every shithouse in this building put together, freak," he taunted.

Curtis paid no attention to the horse-man's bitter tone. "Oh! Morning, Trentor."

"You know there's like, twelve other stalls in here you could've picked, right?" Dante asked the newcomer.

Trentor ignored him and swished his long tail. 

"You better not have had chilli again," the centaur narrowed his eyes at the fun-sized blonde. "They made us go out and use the fields instead 'cause of you. And it's cold out there!"

"Christ, is it even legal for you to eat stuff like that?" Dante turned to Curtis. Curtis' mouth opened, but the sound came out the other end instead.

 **_BBBRRRRUUMFFFMMRRrrrrmmmmfffooouururrbbbvvvrrrppppFFFFRRRLLTTRRVUUURRRRT!_ ** ****

A Herculean fart sent the hay that was scattered behind Curtis whirling through the air in a fetid, mud-colored tornado. Before the eruption had even come to an end, Curtis' stomach gurgled ominously, and a knowing, slightly regretful look crossed his fair-skinned face. He sighed resignedly.

"You might wanna take cover," he warned the unlucky spectators.

He leaned against the wall and raised a leg. No pushing or squeezing was required on his part to ease out a blustery bombardment of slimy rippers. The loose material of his shorts flapped like a flag as he broke an outrageous amount of turbulent wind.

The stench of fermented eggs and moldering milk engulfed the room and even began to leak into the hallway. The noxious fumes blasting out of the boy's back-end were murkier than the oldest and toughest of stains in the stable.

Worst of all, the active digestive noises coming from Curtis' lower gut signified that this was only the beginning.

Trentor and Dante reacted as expected to the nightmarish smell. Trentor whinnied and swiftly covered his nose with some of his hair while Dante's throat muscles contracted, and he threw a hand to his mouth - luckily it was a false alarm.

"I'll, uh..." He choked, his thumb directing behind him. "I'll give you some space, buddy."

Dante backed away. When he felt a wooden post pressing into his spine he leaned against it, making himself comfortable until he was disturbed yet _again_ , this time by the sound of splashing water. He reluctantly turned his head to see that Trentor was taking an elephantine-sized leak in the stall next to him. A thick stream of frothy urine had already flooded the floor.

"Oh my god! Is _anywhere_ safe?" 

"What? At least I don't do it in my pants," Trentor sneered, whipping his tail in Dante's face. The boy blushed and quickly found himself an empty corner to stand in instead.

"Can centaurs even wear pants? How would that work?" Curtis piped up from his stall. Another wet, monstrous fart rattled the walls and rafters, followed by a firecracker stream of short and snappy farts, that was then succeeded by a sad, remorseful moan from Curtis.

Trentor grunted annoyedly and held onto the side of his stall to keep himself steady. Dante glanced at his watch through tear-filled eyes.

"You said your lecture starts at nine forty five, right Curtis? You're gonna be late."

"I know," Curtis whined. Gas was building ferociously in his abdomen and vying for escape. He willingly relaxed the muscles surrounding his sphincter, but all that he managed to let out was a noiseless puff of air. "Ugh. I think my butt's having its intermission. But I've still got too much left in me."

"You _always_ have too much left in you," Trentor scoffed.

Dante crossed his arms thoughtfully. He had seen the mop as soon as they arrived at Curtis' stall, but he only really took notice of it now.

"Curtis," he started, unsure but gaining confidence as the sentence went on, "what would you say if I told you I could help you give birth to your gas baby?"

" _Annnd_ I'm out of here," Trentor announced. He was not going to stick around to witness that, and so he kicked a few piles of straw over his waste and lazily trotted out of the stall. 

"Have fun tasting midget farts," he smirked at Dante. A shockingly bad silent one from Curtis disgusted him into galloping away. Curtis feebly fanned a hand behind him.

"Woopsie... wait, you could do that?"

"I could try."

Dante grabbed the wooden mop. He searched the stable and happened upon a work stool that hadn't been stored away with the rest of the cleaning equipment. Heaving his belongings over to Curtis' smelly stall, he dropped the stool into the center of the floor.

"Sit on this," he said. "I'm going to stand behind you."

"Uh, nobody ever really _volunteers_ to do that..." Curtis informed, watching in confusion as Dante positioned himself. "And they have a good reason not to."

"Just trust me."

Dante bent his knees - he was still much, much taller than Curtis, but it would do - and tightly forced the mop against the blonde's midriff. This, on top of all the air that was trapped inside his inflating tummy, wasn't the nicest addition to his dilemma. He winced sharply and squirmed on the chair.

"Oh, man, that hurts, Dante!"

"I know, bud," Dante rested his chin on top of Curtis' head. "But it won't for much longer. I'm gonna get it all out of you."

"But I don't see how this is going to do anything," Curtis whimpered, straining against the chaos building in his intestines.

"Ye of little faith! I'm going to count down, and when I get to one, you're gonna stand up - you got that?"

"I guess so..."

"Alright, you ready? Three - _two_ \- "

Dante's fingers fastened around the mop. Don't try this at home, kids.

"One! Go, man! Now!"

As Curtis stood up, Dante rolled the mop into his soft, gas-filled gut, and every last drop of flatulence nestled inside the folds rolled down with it.

Dante dived to the side before he was caught in the pathway of Curtis' gruesomely gargantuan expulsion. The sub-woofer foghorn could be heard around the entire school, and nobody (not even the newest of foreign exchange students) needed any help in figuring out who was behind - or _whose_ behind - was the source of it.

Curtis' asshole barely had time to pucker open when all that seismic churning produced an immense gust of pent up flatus. He fought it at first: his face reddened as he was overwhelmed with that all-too-familiar feeling of not being in control, and he kept his tush as taut as possible in a pathetic attempt of reducing the noisiness of his ongoing emission. It only took a couple of seconds for the atmosphere of the room to become virtually uninhabitable. Poor Dante had dealt with several of his smelly slip-ups that weekend, and though he had faced each of them as bravely as one could, he shouldn't have to deal with this, too.

And yet, here they were. Braving it together. Apparently even an explosion of _this_ caliber couldn’t scare Dante away... 

It would have been nice to spend some more time riding that train of thought. But Curtis’ stomach gave a mighty, wrathful gurgle, and the boy puled as he felt the stormy clouds swirl and surge within him. He knew he could no longer afford to be ashamed of his predicament. It was either void himself now, wrecking the stable and potentially burning all the hair off of his _and_ Dante's head, or holding it in and going to class with half a tank full of a particularly pernicious poison. 

He had a feeling the academy's principal wouldn't appreciate him knocking out a lecture hall for the fourth time that semester. 

"Okay, _fine_ ," he whinged. One day he'd win over the curse, but today was not that day.

Dante watched the other's shoulders sag and his back arch. Curtis huffed and puffed out his cheeks as his hands slid down his thighs to rest upon his knees. He pointed his rump out of the stall door and, after reciting a quick little prayer (with both himself and Dante's lungs in mind), he grunted and released any tenseness he was holding onto. 

It was like throwing water onto a grease fire. The blaze inside of Curtis' intestines roared and a brassy torrent fired out of his rear-end, engulfing the room in one great, stinky swoop. Curtis sighed graciously as the gusty stream flowed out of him, ridding his charmed colon of the morning’s aches and pains.

Eighteen seconds of vigorous farting later - yes, Dante counted - the pitch of the fart dropped, sinking into a damper and squelchier realm of sound. Curtis swiveled his hips as a batch of warm, swampy farts burped deeply out of his sweaty behind, bubbling and popping uncomfortably. It felt like the world's most disgusting hot springs had formed inside of his boxers. Cheese was indeed a mistake (but would he ever learn? No. No, he wouldn't.)

Hefty, humid farts now escaped Curtis infrequently; every two seconds, then five, then eight. There was a pause, just to give Dante some false hope, but the blonde's stomach rumbled and reminded him not to be so foolish. A tediously long ripper croaked out of Curtis' anus like the drawn-out wail of a doorway whose hinges haven't tasted oil in many years and deluged the room in a cheesy fetor.

Dante had taken cover behind the wall of another stall, and now he peered around the side of it, checking to see if the coast was clear. The air certainly wasn't.

"Almost," Curtis told him tiredly. He could feel another air-pocket filtering south. He closed his eyes, bit into his lip and blasted it out.

 **_BRRROOOOOOBBBRRRRRRP!_ ** ****

The stool was bowled over by that final, forceful fart and sent careening into the corridor, where it spun on its side for half a minute before eventually quieting down in a corner.

"And... _scene,_ " Dante quipped.

Curtis let out a shy chuckle as he watched the other carefully emerge from his hiding space. 

"I'd say excuse me, but I've got a feeling it's not gonna cut the mustard," he said.

"Believe me, you've done enough cutting already," Dante coughed out. "Phew! That was some horn section you gave us there, Fergle. I mean, talk about a tear-jerking performance."

Curtis bent over to take a bow, only to accidentally sound off another trumpeting outburst.

"Oh, for the love of God!"

"Sorry!" The blonde guiltily waved a hand behind his butt. "That one snuck up on me."

"How - how?! Are you honestly for real? How on earth do you _still_ have gas after all of that?"

"What part of magical, life long curse aren't you getting?" Curtis joked, but the nagging feeling of doubt wiped the smile off his face. "...you still don't mind, do you?" 

"I swear, if you ask me that one more time, I'm burying your nose in the Cheerios I tossed up back there," Dante threatened. He nodded his head toward the space downwind of Curtis. "Although, it's way prettier than what _you_ did."

Curtis readjusted his glasses and hesitantly observed the aftermath. A new crack had completely split one of the walls in two, and wisps of dust residue still hovered in the stall. Part of the roof had caved in and dropped a whole heap of debris, including a nest, complete with a family of unconscious birds, onto the floor. The stall looked even worse for wear than it did before and it was already an eyesore then. Now it was a _nose_ sore, too.

They wasted no time in retreating from the fumigated room.

"How's that tank of yours now? You gotta be feeling better now, right?" asked Dante, as he draped an arm amiably around Curtis' shoulders.

Curtis patted his tummy. " _Much_ better. That was a neat trick." He glimpsed curiously at the other male. "Say, where'd you learn to do that, anyway?"

Dante smirked.

"Haven't you heard? A fart-baby-midwife _never_ reveals his secrets."

* * *

Curtis' gaseous gifts might not have been appreciated by his satyr neighbor, nor the centaurs, nor the janitorial staff who would have to clean up their stable that night.

But Dante was living for it. 

There was no ramming or jostling through clumps of idle bodies to get to where they had to be. There was no opportunity for someone to come up to him and poke fun about his accident. Because the two boys weaved through the crowd effortlessly, as every other creature was doing all they could to avoid having to be near Curtis.

It was an amusing sight, witnessing mass panic being caused by someone as unintimidating and geeky as the little blonde. The students screamed and scattered upon his arrival. They fled through the nearest exits, they threw themselves into classrooms that they had no right being in, they pressed themselves against the steel lockers and the walls to the point where ribs were being crushed.

They did whatever had to be done. Meanwhile, the duo happily strolled down the cleared pathway that had so kindly been created for them. 

Dante watched as those who hadn't been able to escape covered their noses and held their breaths. A handful of cruel comments were slung in his direction, but Curtis only smiled, seemingly unaffected by the rude behavior, even saying hello to a couple of them. Dante had to admire how little he cared... at least on the outside.

"Here we are!" His whiffy companion announced once they reached his locker. Something grabbed Dante's attention straight away; every fart-related pun or insult one could possibly conjure up had been scribbled on every inch of the metal surface. The engravings ranged from childish to downright cold.

Curtis noticed him staring.

"Oh, that," he laughed. "Yeah, when they say _permanent_ marker, they really mean it. I can't tell you the amount of rags I've ruined."

"We'll clean it up together after summer," Dante confidently assured him, only to immediately cower behind him, despite Curtis being several inches shorter than him and in a state of extreme pungency thanks to his latest series of explosions.

"Fuck!"

"What?" Curtis asked, trying to look in all directions at once. "What is it?! What's wrong?"

"There's the guys!"

"What guys?"

"The _guys_ ," Dante hissed. Curtis' silence was telling. He sighed sharply. "The guys who... _you know_..."

Curtis still didn't know who exactly they were talking about, but that didn't stop him from throwing his fists up in front of him, positioned in what Dante suspected he thought was a fighting pose.

"Where?! Who? Let me at them! I promise I just wanna talk!"

Dante grabbed the boy by the shoulders and swung him in the right direction. Curtis' anger punctually disappeared.

"...oh," he whispered. " _Those_ guys."

The guys in question were a trio of contrasting jocks: a thin, greasy-haired elf, an ogre who was bulbous even by ogre standards, and a bushy-browed half-gnome who was around the same height as Curtis but much less willing to be teased for it. 

Dante hated himself for feeling so relieved to see that they were bullying someone else that morning. Today's victim was a shrimpy goblin, currently being folded up and wedged inside of his own locker. His cries could be heard ringing down the hallway, but no one seemed to be paying any attention.

"Stop it! Put me down! _Heeeeeelp!_ "

"Poor Cory. I know how that feels," Curtis murmured ruefully. "They stuffed me into a trophy case once, right after lunch. I hadn't lost my sense of smell yet. It... wasn't pretty. I still don't know why I ate those chimichangas."

Dante's stomach flipped wildly. Cory's pitiful pleas for help reminded him so much of his own crisis, and how helpless he had felt at the time. How helpless he _still_ felt.

He grabbed one of Curtis' arms and lifted it into the air, using his hand to fan out the odor attached to the blonde's pits.

"Quick! Give me some of your stank, they won't wanna come near me!"

" _Hey!_ I think you got enough of it back in the stable," Curtis squirmed out of his grip. "Dante, dude, it's gonna be-"

"It's not gonna be okay!" Dante panicked, chest frantically expanding and shrinking as he gulped down far too many shallow breaths. "I've got a class with them this afternoon and- and- ** _and_** -"

"Dante, _Dante_ ," Curtis cooed. He put his hands on the taller male and, with all his might, turned him away from looking at the distressing scene. 

"Listen, you remember what I said earlier? If they hassle you, just let it slide. They _want_ you to get angry and scared. Don't give them what they want. The best reaction..."

Dante still couldn't take his eyes off them.

"Come on, Dante, listen to me!" Curtis gave him a shake. He even resorted to slapping him on the face.

Dante promptly returned to reality.

"What?! ...oh. Is no reaction," he muttered at last.

"That's it!" Curtis cheered. "That's my guy! C'mere!"

He tried to noogie Dante. He tried for many minutes, and though he hadn't intended it, watching Curtis' feeble attempts to stretch high enough distracted Dante enough to make him feel better again.

"Would it- ...ah... _oh_..." All this exercise had, of course, sent Curtis into a severe wheeze attack, "...kill you to help me out?!" He gasped.

Dante eventually lowered his head for him. Curtis' mood instantly brightened, and he took full pleasure in finally being able to give someone _else_ a noogie for a change.

"We gotta think about getting you an inhaler, man," Dante snorted.

"You're gonna be just fine, I promise," Curtis told him. "I'll get out of my lecture around one, and then we'll..."

"We'll what?" Dante asked. He gazed down at the blonde when he didn't get an answer.

Curtis' face said it all. 

"Curtis," he panicked again, though for a much more reasonable reason this time. "Curtis, no - _no_ , not with all these people, dude! NO!"

**_VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVRRRRRRRRRRRRMFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRPT!_ **

The gas-bomb detonated onto the crowd with a resounding rip, flooding the assortment of nostrils with its depraved, faintly cheesy musk. An ensemble of terrified screeches filled the spaces in the air that Curtis' stink somehow hadn't claimed. And suddenly every student, or the ones that were still conscious, found the motivation to rush to their early morning classes.

The duo found themselves standing in a desolate hallway. Curtis chuckled sheepishly and avoided Dante's reproachful stare.

"Uh... you know, I think I might've had one left in my tank..."

"Oh, you _think?!_ "


	8. Confessions and Schemes (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter contains:_
> 
> \- Homophobic language (use of the f-slur)  
> \- Implied transphobia/transphobic language  
> \- Vomiting

“Coming through! If I could just - heh, d'ya mind if I - oh, sorry, could I just…?”

Curtis squeezed his way through the very, _very_ last row of the auditorium. As Dante had predicted, he was late, and so all of his usual seats - seats that were noticeably isolated from every other seat - had already been filled. 

As he tried (and failed) to discreetly join the rest of the class, a chorus of disgruntled grumbles and gripes came from those sitting in the rear aisle and soon caused the inquisitive turning of heads from those placed in the aisles closer to the front.

“Give it a rest back there, would ya?” Someone carped from the center row.

“Yeah, we’re trying to listen!” Another chimed in.

“Sorry! Almost - _almost_ \- there we go.”

At last Curtis located an empty space, suitably situated at the back of the room (he wasn’t exactly forbidden from sitting upwind of other people, but he was strongly advised never to do so), albeit closely packed between an overweight faun and a shaggy-haired troll. 

“Morning, fellas,” he happily greeted the pair. Neither looked as pleased with their new deskmate as Curtis was.

“Ahem…”

The grating din of a phlegmy throat being cleared reverbed through the towering speakers positioned at either side of the lecture hall, courtesy of the end of the microphone that belonged to their professor.

“Mr. Fergle,” the old griffon started, ruffling his feathers indignantly, “if you wouldn’t mind settling down now, please?”

“Oh, no problemo, sir!”

Curtis pulled out his chair and, having lowered his infamous derriere, sat down on a whoopie cushion… in an ideal world.

But this was not an ideal world.

This was a world where Curtis the Cursed existed. And everyone knew that with Curtis, there was never, ever going to be a whoopie cushion to blame.

The gustiness of the fart actually lifted his rump back up again, as a lengthy, rasping rumble seeped out from underneath. Before the other students had even registered the hauntingly familiar notes of his chronic flatulence, his gastric burden had spread out and blanketed the surrounding area in a stinky smog. 

He cleared the seats around him in a manner of seconds. He vacated all chairs within a thirty feet radius of him in a manner of minutes. Soon the aisles were clogged with people trying to evade his overabundant stench.

“Oh no,” Curtis whispered in a trepidatious voice, as chaos ensued.

The professor switched his microphone off so he didn’t burst everyone’s eardrums with his own violent coughing.

“Farty- I mean, Mr. Fergle!” He rebuked, glossing over the giggles from the portion of the hall that was still conscious enough to hear his mistake. “It is one thing to arrive to my lecture _late_ , but to then disrupt my teachings even further with one of your… _little interruptions_ … is enough cause to ask you to leave, I should think!”

The class shared similar feelings on the matter and were keen to make it known. Curtis shrunk down in his seat, trying not to catch anyone’s disapproving eye, pretending he couldn’t hear their derogatory whispers. The professor knew that carrying out such an act would make him vulnerable to suspension under one of those discriminatory laws the education board always harped on about, so he ordered Curtis to hold it in and for everyone else to calm down and, if you must, please try and die quietly.

“As I was saying…” he proudly restarted, then frowned. His feathers were greying and every now and then, it was made apparent that so was his memory. “Actually, what _was_ I saying?”

With the attention of the auditorium gradually diverting from his odorous outburst, Curtis picked up a blunt pencil and opened his notebook. He was one of the few who had actually managed to pass the final exam, so it wasn’t entirely necessary for him to care about what was being discussed, but Curtis didn’t think it would hurt to listen in anyway.

Of course, not everyone possessed this attitude.

A scrunched-up wad of paper bounced off the side of his head. Years of learned instinct immediately kicked in. He didn’t even bother to look up, though his aggravator was a lot more determined than he bargained for.

“Pssst, _fart boy!_ Hey! So how much you payin' the pants-pisser to pretend he likes you, huh?”

The student that this goading voice belonged to craned his neck eagerly in the direction of Curtis’ deserted row. Curtis ignored his jesting, but it caught the attention of a nearby elf girl, whose pointed ear twitched curiously at the remark. 

“What are you talking about, Kevin?” she asked. 

“Didn’t you guys hear? Fergle’s got himself a new friend. ‘course, you gotta take _'friend'_ with a cart full of salt. No one would pal around with him unless they were getting something out of it. Either that, or Dante Diapers must’ve lost a pretty big bet!”

Laughter erupted from the desks neighboring Kevin. With Curtis refusing to pay the gossiping group any mind, they soon grew bored of looking at him in the hopes of seeing a reaction. But if they had continued to stare, they would’ve noticed that a reaction _had_ indeed occurred.

They would’ve noticed the way his green eyes had lit up. They would've seen the rise on each corner of his mouth, and the way his left leg was now bouncing giddily underneath the table.

Kevin was right about one thing. And it was only with it being declared aloud, albeit in a mean-spirited manner, that Curtis’ brain finally put two and two together, and acknowledged his relationship with Dante for what it was: an actual, living, breathing relationship.

The first one he had in _years._

The only one he had.

Which made it all the more precious, in his view.

 _I have a friend,_ Curtis thought, as the euphoria built up inside of him. _Dante’s my friend._ _And_ _I’m HIS friend! We’re friends! Buddies! Certifiable chums!_

Unfortunately, like always, it wasn’t only euphoria.

**BRRRROMMMFFFRRPPPPUUUUURRRRP!**

“Mr. Fergle, _please!_ ”

“Sorry!”

* * *

Thanks to the continuous reoccurrences of Curtis’ little interruptions, his lecture ran over by an hour, and by the time it had finally finished, Dante was already well into his… much to his non-existent delight. 

Try as he might to avoid it, this chemistry class was woefully obligatory. Knowing what chemicals could do on their own and when in the company of other chemicals was a requisite for Potionology - and, sadly, Dante had his heart set on wearing a potion master’s apron someday.

To be fair, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. He loved the practical sessions, he had a soft spot for his professor, and he tolerated the mounds of theory work. It lost most of its appeal through no fault of its own, really, by featuring in the timetables of the three delinquents who had harassed him into wetting himself in the packed presence of a crowded hallway. 

In some ways, their inclusion in the class worked in his favor. They made him look good in comparison. In actual fact they made _everyone_ look good in comparison: simply showing up when you were asked to instantly elevated your academic status to that of a highly-motivated scholar. But especially him.

He had theorized that this may have been part of the reason why they had it in for him. That’s how it usually worked with people like Herk. He never offered any answers without being asked first, but if he was chosen to, Dante always supplied exactly what the professor wanted to hear. Dr. Timble wasn’t shy about pointing out that his skill level was a lot more advanced than his peers, either.

But… that was only _part_ of it.

There was something else about Dante that made him so tempting to taunt. Something that, as far as he was aware, only they knew, and he very much intended to keep it that way. The idea that others could be privy to this information was a thought he didn’t dare entertain - even though it was the only thought his perpetually turmoiled headspace had been entertaining for the last week.

He was the first to arrive, so he had the pick of the room, claiming an empty desk at the back of the laboratory that was conveniently placed closest to the door. It allowed him a swift escape when the lecture concluded and it gave him the ability to spot the presence of his tormentors before _they_ spotted _him_.

Professor Timble arrived twenty minutes after class was due to begin. Dante suspected from the sweat stains underneath his arms and the slack tie that he had left something at home again and had to drive all the way across town to collect it. This habit was very much in the spirit of Dr. Timble.

“It was my wallet this time, if anyone’s curious,” the orc admitted with an embarrassed laugh. He set his folder down onto the desk and gazed out at the sparsely-occupied room. “Is this everyone?”

At this, Dante cast a nonchalant glance at the hallway through the door’s window panel. Maybe - just maybe - Lady Luck would shine kindly upon him today, and the trio somehow couldn’t make it to class.

“Don’t all shout out at once,” Dr. Timble said when exactly zero people had bothered to respond. He picked up a sheet of paper and read off his agenda.

“For those of you who have to resit your practical examinations, we’ll be doing that this afternoon. The rest of you…” He trailed off, shrugging. “Attempt to do something productive. And try to stay awake. Good luck.”

Dante looked down at his notepad. It might’ve been a good idea to utilize this time, had he anything he wanted to devote this time to, which he didn’t. So he started scribbling down some vague notes that eventually turned into actual scribbles when he inevitably bored himself into doodling. But it was a distraction, and though that was, technically, what he needed, it meant he was no longer checking the door.

He'd come to regret that.

_“- oof!”_

Two hands gripped his shoulders and shoved him forward in his seat. That would be Chunk, Dante thought, as his heart sank into his stomach. The ogre turned him around and sneered in his face, one of his huge lower fangs protruding dangerously from his mouth. He wasn’t much for talking. His body language usually said it for him.

Dante closed his eyes and sighed. If Chunk was here, that had to mean that-

“Hey, Pampers!” Elvor stepped into view, smirked at him, and tossed some of his greasy white hair over his shoulder. “We missed you on the train this morning. Where were you?”

“Uh…” Dante cringed at the fact he had even bothered to try and give him a response. But Curtis’ advice to turn a blind eye couldn’t solve _everything_ , could it? Especially when physical force was involved.

“Take your seats, boys,” Dr. Timble warned.

“Hey, speaking of pampers…”

Dante tensed, as Herk the half-gnome, the trio’s nefarious ringleader, sidled up beside him and flicked through the pages of his notepad.

“We never did figure out what the deal was down there, did we, pally?” He gestured to his own crotch. Dante promptly looked away. “How roomy are we talkin’? You packing _big_ , faggot?”

“Or are you even packing at all?” Chunk asked mockingly, and the three of them snickered and loudly congratulated themselves on such an original joke. Dante set his jaw and dug his fingernails into the soft, slick flesh of his palm.

_Don’t react. Don’t react…_

“Will you PLEASE take your seats!” Dr. Timble used up his one allowance of legitimate authority for the day. “I’m not going to ask you three again! Now! Before I really lose it!”

“Killjoy,” Elvor muttered. Chunk scoffed and cuffed Dante over his head. He watched the three settle themselves at a table near the front of the class, presumably to trick Dr. Timble into thinking there wouldn’t be any more disturbances.

The orc flashed Dante a sympathetic look. Dante smiled in return, though it weakened once he realized he was now the center of attention for those seated around him. The trio’s comments had attracted the curiosity of those nearby. Dante hoped his peers wouldn’t analyze their remarks too deeply.

“You three each have an assessment to resit,” he heard Dr. Timble say. “More than one, actually. And I’m not coming in tomorrow if I can help it. Grab some gloves, you’re going to show me how…”

Dante stopped listening after that. He looked down at his notepad, grimacing at the stains Herk’s fingers had left behind. Did this dude ever shower? Actually, scratch that, he didn’t want to _ever_ think about Herk in the shower.

With nothing to do, and his tormentors occupied, his mind wandered - and surprisingly his thoughts didn't dwell on Herk's hatred, or his friends' abandonment, in the way he had been so prone to lately.

But that was before. When he had had no one. 

Now he had Curtis.

He wondered what the little guy was up to. Was he still in class? Was he doodling too? Dante doubted it. For all his ditziness, Curtis seemed like the studious type. In fact he was pretty sure he heard him mention that he had started his studies at the academy a whole year younger than everyone else, all thanks to his academic prowess.

Whatever he was doing...

Dante placed his bets on it involving farts.

_“Oh my GOD!”_

He was yanked out of his daydreaming by the piercing bellows of Bertha, a minotaur, who by the looks of things was trying to square-up to Herk. Or square- _down_ in this case, considering their obvious height difference.

“Hey, watch it, Daisy!” The gnome growled, ducking out of her way.

“You’re telling _me_ to watch it?! That was my essay you just fucked up!” 

Dante’s nose twitched at the smell of smoke. His gaze was pulled toward Bertha’s table. Several sheets of paper had been drenched in some sort of concoction that had led to them being… well, burned to a rare crisp.

“Relax already! It was a slip of the hand, heh,” Herk said, watching as Dr. Timble extinguished the mini-blaze then left the room to get something to clean the rest of the mess up with. The gnome’s guilty countenance turned into something a lot more hostile as he turned on his victim.

“Could’ve been your face instead, bitch. Ever think about that? Not that that would’ve been a _bad_ thing!”

Chunk and Elvor laughed scornfully. The bovine’s cheeks tinged a dark shade of red and she hastily moved her belongings to the seat next to Dante.

“Smart choice, big B,” Elvor taunted. “Dante can whizz all over the next paper we burn!”

It set the goons off even more. Bertha rolled her eyes and focused on her textbook, but with the way her jaw was trembling, Dante could see she was hurt by it.

It had become apparent to him that, since joining the academy five months ago, he had never had an encounter with the trio where he hadn’t witnessed them making someone’s life miserable. How long had it been going on for before then? And why didn’t anyone ever _do_ anything about it? Was everyone as afraid of them as Dante was?

That’s what it came down to. Fear. It was one thing talking about it, and Dante couldn’t even begin to count the times he had dreamed about getting payback. But he knew he didn’t have the guts to actually stand up to them. 

_Maybe if I did_ , he thought, fleetingly acknowledging the fact that he could now smell something not unlike Curtis’ signature scent in the room, _I wouldn’t be spending every waking moment of my existence freaking out about them telling people that I’m…_

Wait. There was something putrid in the air.

And according to the complaints coming from around him, he wasn’t the only one who had noticed it.

“Chunk, you mixed in the wrong shit, man! It’s not supposed to do that!” Elvor admonished the ogre as they backed away from the malodorous set of test tubes. But he was giggling as he did it. Clearly the two of them found their accident very amusing.

Herk did not.

Dante watched the gnome’s face pale to a sickly white. His Adam’s apple bobbed distressfully in his throat. Some color swiftly returned to his cheeks - a shade that was distinctly green (even for a half-gnome) - and he suddenly lunged for a trashcan. With a wet belch, he spewed up his breakfast unceremoniously. Most of it ended up dripping down the front of his shirt.

Laughter broke out in the classroom.

“Shut up! All of you, can it right now!” Elvor demanded. No one bothered to listen; especially Bertha, who was delighted with how promptly karma had worked its magic.

With another jetstream of vomit erupting from Herk’s mouth, the laughter doubled until Chunk slammed a meaty fist down onto his desk and silenced them all with a terrifying roar.

“What the hell is going on in here?!”

Dr. Timble had returned with an army of paper towels. 

“Eugh! For pixie’s sake, why does it smell like Farty- I mean… oh never mind. Gods, we need to vent this place out a bit.” He hurried toward the windows, stopping briefly by Dante’s desk to wave a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Earth to Mr. Dinmont?”

“Huh?!” Dante abruptly snapped out of his trance.

“I know it’s hard, Dante, but I’d appreciate it if my best student didn’t doze off in my class.”

“What? Oh! Sorry, sir, I wasn’t… I was just thinking…”

“Ha. Well, whatever you were thinking about, it looked pretty intense,” Dr. Timble chuckled.

He grinned to himself. It _was_ intense. It was intense and dastardly and more than a little bit childish in nature; a perfect reflection of the trio’s innumerable pranks on innocent victims, and the perfect recipe to give them a taste of their own medicine.

And Dante knew exactly who had the gut for it.


	9. Confessions and Schemes (Part II)

**_(The next day.)_ **

Dante looked down at the sodden note in his hand, looked up at the outlandishly mammoth mansion looming before him, then looked back at the note again.

There was no mailbox (neon pink or otherwise) to confirm whether this was indeed the Fergle residency, though he doubted that a building as grandeur as this one would have something as ordinary as a mailbox. Probably its very own designated mail _room._

Had he jotted down an incorrect number? Or taken a wrong turn somewhere? When he provided Dante with the directions to his not-so-humble abode, Curtis had neglected to tell him that he lived in the fancy side of town. And if he had ever mentioned anything about living in a castle, Dante doubted it could slip his mind.

"I've gotta be lost," he murmured bemusedly.

A puny peal of thunder crashed above his head, a teaser for what was to come. The dark clouds were sagging under the weight of even more rain. He decided he’d rather not be caught in the next torrential shower.

Dante took the risk and rapped his knuckles against the huge wooden door.

Two minutes passed without any response, which was enough to make him suspect that no one was around - on the ground floor, at least. He pulled his sweatshirt up and over his head to shield himself from the glacial water that began to pelt down as a louder, more assured note emitted from the blackening sky.

But underneath the noise, he thought he could make out the sound of someone shouting.

So Dante knocked again; faster and more forcefully this time.

_"Am I the only one hearing this?! Someone's at the door, people!"_

Okay, someone _was_ home. A highly-strung woman, by the sounds of it. Locks clicked on the other side of the entrance before it was forcibly pulled open. Dante lifted his head, a requirement even at his height, and stared at a lofty woman dressed in a silk kimono and clutching a liberally measured glass of gin. 

She arched a brow at him and leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, not daring to step any closer lest the rain run the makeup off her face.

Dante waited for her to say something, but she didn't. Likewise, the woman waited for Dante to say his piece (she was not donating anything to _any_ charity, but she'd humor him for a moment or so), and when that failed to be produced, the two of them were left to share a slice of awkward silence. 

The brunette eventually scraped together enough courage to part his lips.

"I'm-"

That was about all he managed to say, before she cut him short.

"If you're here to interview for the gardening job, not only are you _obscenely_ late," she hawked, "but I can already tell that you do not have the arms for it!" 

Dante blinked, his mouth frozen in a stunned 'o' shape. The scornful woman huffed out an exasperated sigh and started to close over the door.

The boy suddenly came to.

"Wait!" He cried out.

Frustratedly, she pulled the door open again. 

"What is it? Do you work in the kitchens?"

"No, I-"

"Do you clean?"

"No!"

"If you don't cook or clean - and with those arms, you certainly do _not_ tend gardens - then I have nothing to offer you. But don't worry. You'll be the first to know when we're hiring someone to _waste my time_ ," she snarled.

The door was almost slammed shut again - _almost._ Dante's foot saved the day. He only regretted this with every last pain receptor in his body when the agony surged through his leg and caused him to yell, though it helped to add to the aggressive desperation of his next sentence.

"I'M HERE TO SEE CURTIS!"

That got the lady's attention, and not just because he had screamed it into her face. She opened the door wide and fixed Dante with an icy stare. For a moment he wondered if he had indeed visited the wrong house. Or castle. Or whatever.

"Curtis?" she repeated, in the worst impression of someone who was surprised Dante had ever been witness to. If she was who he thought she might be, he was beginning to understand what side of the family Curtis inherited his ability to lie from. "Oh, but I don't know who that..."

**_bbbbrrrbbbBBBbbbbrrrmmmfffrrrbbbrrrraaaffRRRRRRRRT!_ ** ****

At first, Dante thought it was another clap of resonating thunder. He supposed it sort of was, except this thunder came from somewhere inside the mansion and caused a servant who happened to be passing by to frightfully drop his stack of dirty dishes all over the marble floor.

Dante snickered. This wasn't the reaction the woman wanted to see.

"I'm going to sue that doctor for every last dime," she hissed under her breath, then laid all her bile onto her visitor. 

"And what makes YOU think that you're so special? No one gets to come _in._ You can go and stand outside his window and harass him like everybody else, but not inside. NEVER inside! I don't know where you people come from or who you live with and frankly, the thought is nothing short of distressing!"

The smug look on Dante's face was wiped clean. " _What?_ I'm not here to-"

"And no throwing things!" She continued fiercely. "I don't care if it's eggs or rocks or what else. These windows are antiques, you know. There's only so much of this kind of glass left in the world, and even fewer people who know how to prepare it to my standard. Do _not_ touch them. If his window is open, which-"

Her eyes closed over in resentment as another enormous fart reverberated through the extravagant house.

"-it often _is_ ," she growled, "then I don't mind so much, but you _must_ have a splendid aim and frankly with those arms I don't think-"

"Enough about my arms! I'm not here to make fun of him," Dante shoved his way inside, despite the woman's shrieking protests.

"Out!" She demanded. "Get out right now!" 

"Make me, lady!"

The woman snapped her fingers and made eye-contact with a burly butler who had deftly appeared from around a corner. Dante's pupils fattened in fear.

"I mean, uh, I didn't actually mean-"

"Artimus, escort this incoherent boy from the premises, please. And make sure he doesn't loiter. Jonah _hates_ loiterers."

"As you wish, Miss Celia..."

"Wait, wait!" Dante tried to twist his arm out of the butler's rigid hold. "Please, I just - I just wanted to visit him! I just wanted to make sure he was okay! I was just worried, that's all!"

Artimus didn't require Curtis' mother's orders to stop him from seeing Dante on his way. Both he and she were visibly taken aback by the statement.

" _Visit_ him?" She repeated softly, then let out a single bark of scathing laughter. "Why would you _ever_ want to do that?"

"Maybe he's being paid," Artimus supplied with a smirk. "Or perhaps..."

The woman took another sip from her glass, sharing an amused smile with the butler, who was making a gesture toward his skull that suggested Dante wasn't _all there._

A fire ignited in Dante's chest at the sight of the two simpering adults. One of which had an obligation, a _duty_ , to defend the boy they were ridiculing. But he remained calm as he lifted his chin and stared down Celia Fergle.

"Because he's my _friend_ ," Dante declared with a proud smile.

The woman choked in surprise and recovered after a swift thumping on the back from Artimus. The mouthful of gin spurted out of her throat.

One thing was for sure.

Today was definitely **not** a good day to be the marble floor.

* * *

"Curtis, buddy! You in here?"

Dante stood outside the door to what he had been told was his gaseous compadre’s bedroom, which just so happened to be located on its very own floor, in the furthest corner of the building, secluded from all the other rooms in the mansion. Presumably, this was not by coincidence.

He waited and waited some more. If the blonde had taken after his mother in his approach to answering doors in a timely manner, then there was no point in him waiting any further. He turned the handle and let himself in.

"What's with the - _whoa!_ "

It hurts to walk into any kind of wall. But especially one that's made up of hundreds of layers of nauseating flatulence, and even more so if this flatulence was being manufactured by a very, very sickly Curtis.

Staggering backward, Dante steeled himself against the dizziness that abruptly overcame him. The air in the bedroom was doused in a dirty haze and smelled absolutely appalling. He was fortunate enough to have never experienced a swirly in one of the troll bathroom's toilet bowls (it was one of the few humiliations Dante had not yet endured), but he imagined that even _that_ smelled better than this.

"Heh... hey, dude," came a sheepish voice from somewhere inside.

Dante blinked through the coating of tears in his burning eyes and saw that Curtis was lying on the end of a big, unmade bed, half-buried underneath a bountiful assemblage of fuzzy blankets. His round glasses were folded neatly on a nearby desk and his dark blonde hair was sticking up in all directions, indicating to Dante that he had probably been asleep moments before. 

The boy was wearing a ragtag set of pajamas, made up of a baggy shirt with dried paint smattered on it and boxers patterned with yellow rubber duckies. There was a hot water bottle pressed against his stomach, that was protruding for reasons that were currently unclear to Dante, though he knew better than to think it could mean anything good.

Even with the haze acting as a barrier, Dante could see the apologetic look on Curtis’ face.

"Ferg, what did you-" Dante stopped in his verbal tracks. An unusual noise had caught his attention. "Are you... are you boiling water in here?"

_BBBRRRRRRpppphbbbhhbbbbbbbt!_

A thick bubble of flatulence belched out from between Curtis' buttocks, sounding as grubby as he looked. The blonde whimpered and hugged a pillow against his chest. 

"It's my tummy," he confessed, green eyes squeezing shut as his internal discomfort flared up. "Ooof! The curse... I made it mad... oh, dude, I am _so_ sorry about that."

Before Dante could ask what the apology was for, he was attacked by a searing cloud of noxious stench. He steadied his grip using a chair - Curtis' silent-but-violent was determined to knock him off his feet, but he wouldn't go down _that_ easily - and slowed his breaths, as to not flood his lungs with too much of the boy's bewitched brand at once.

"Okay, I think mad might be downplaying it a little," Dante gasped, casting a judgemental look at the flatulent male. Curtis blushed and lifted the section of blanket that was covering his rear to try and fan out the muggy, suppressive smell.

As his nose worked on adjusting to the current level of toxicity in the bedroom, Dante braced himself and stepped closer to the bed. He crouched down so he could be eye-line with Curtis and gently moved the water bottle away from his infected gut, revealing the swollen abdomen hidden underneath.

"Man, it sounds like you've got your very own jacuzzi in there," he teased, reaching out a finger to poke the other's burbling belly. "Jeez. So which dairy product was it this time, hmm? Pizza? A milkshake? One too many bowls of Frosted Fart-Os?"

Curtis' wanted to answer that with words rather than a huge garlicky belch, but when it came to bodily functions, he very rarely got what he wanted.

_BBBBOOOUUUUAAAAARRRROOOURP!_

As one might expect from someone whose face had just been violated by a musty burp, Dante screamed like a three year old. The stale air seemed to make a beeline for his nostrils and engulfed every one of his senses in a stewy stink.

"Aw, _dude!_ Thanks for that!"

"Sorr- **ooUUURRRP!** " Curtis belched and farted at the same time. He sighed, resigning himself to shutting up. It was clearly the safest option for everyone involved.

Even with the generous amount of air he had let out, his stomach hadn't been the slightest bit alleviated of its affliction. It protested just as noisily as it did before.

With some resistance from his spasming intestines, Curtis carefully rolled onto his back and tenderly kneaded the bloated folds. While it certainly _felt_ good, the consequence of this was that a cacophony of damp sputters rushed out of his rump, and Dante whistled as he fanned the miasma in another direction - preferably one that was a hundred miles away from him.

"Just as well you stayed at home today, buddy. The academy would've had to evacuate!" He joked, knowing full well that was a very plausible possibility. "Seriously, though, this is your body crying out for help. You gotta listen to it. I've heard that vegan cheese isn't _completely_ inedible. We could find something else-"

"I didn't eat anything!" Curtis denied, gritting his teeth. "Last night one of the doctors delivered another elixir and I had to – _ahh!_ " He yelped as his stomach emitted a swampy grumble, and Dante heard the resultant fart vibrate against the bed. "Oogh, gosh, that one hurt..."

"An elixir?" Dante repeated. "How come you needed that? Are you sick?"

Curtis' face scrunched up as his distressed bowels emptied out another bout of messy rippers.

"Oow! I wasn't, but I am _now_ ," he complained. Then he sighed. It was not in Curtis' nature to be so pessimistic. "My mom gets them commissioned every once in a while. Every time they somehow convince her that it's going to cure me. And every time it makes me even gassier."

**BBBRRROOORRRRRRT-VVVVVVVRRRRRRT-PPPPPPUUURRRRRRRP!**

These farts were so tumultuous that they echoed. "No shit," Dante stated succinctly, as he pinched his nostrils shut. "That's big pharma for ya."

"Ooft..." Curtis relaxed after unloading the relentless gale. "I didn't _wanna_ drink it, you know. I told her it would only make it worse. But she talked me into it. She said the doctor promised her this one would work."

Being a student of the craft, Dante knew that potions could have unpredictable side-effects; ones that didn't necessarily determine the final outcome of the liquidated magic. 

"And… does _this_ mean it's working?" he asked.

Curtis hiked up his left leg. The blanket was halfway done with slipping off him when it was suddenly blasted into the air by a torrent of deafening winds. A storm of rotten musk plowed out of his small behind, shrouding everything in its path, including Dante.

He managed to lower himself onto the corner of the bed before he actually _was_ knocked off his feet. After a minute of head-spinning nausea, the brunette regained a semblance of normal functionality.

"Whoa, okay, a 'no' would've sufficed, dude! Oh sweet God! Did something die up there?!"

"Not gonna lie..." The blonde paused, grunted, and pushed out another big, brassy butt-bomb. The extra long pocket of gas rumbled rhythmically out of his round rear and Curtis melted with relief into his nest of blankets. "I'm _so_ glad that's out of me, heh heh!"

"Yeah, well I'm not," Dante grumped as he briskly waved a hand in front of his face. He got up and hurried toward one of the two opened windows in Curtis' room when something suddenly blocked his pathway. A strip of wallpaper hastily departed from one of the walls, unable to withstand the young Fergle's potent emissions any longer.

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

Curtis looked up. "Oh, that," he said, a little too casually for the other male's liking. "Don't worry about it, it happens all the time. I wish my mom would just let me paint it instead. We have to get a guy every month to redo the whole place."

Dante nodded, slow with awe. This wasn't the first time he had witnessed how powerful Curtis' farts could be. This wasn't even the deadliest display of his flatulence problem. It didn't make it any less of an alarming sight, however. It was bizarre to know that someone as guileless as Curtis was capable of producing such diabolical gases in such unfathomable quantities.

And that was _precisely_ what he was looking forward to taking advantage of.

"I'd stay over there if I were you," Curtis warned. Dante heard the ominous gurgling and decided to take his word for it. While Curtis poisoned the atmosphere with even more bombastic bursts, Dante, armed with a sleeve over his nose, took a tour of his companion’s living space. 

It wasn't as big as he had expected, considering the rest of the mansion. Nor was it decorated in a way that felt befitting of Curtis. Most of it was plain, with dull furnishings and dull décor and no signs of a dorky personality to be seen...

Except for the shelves.

The shelves were the only giveaway that someone like Curtis occupied this room.

There were tons of adorable knick-knacks, oddities about as unusual as the boy himself. Snow globes from countries Dante had never heard of (and some he was certain didn't exist.) Mismatched trinkets and toys. A fully sized banjo, for no apparent reason. He picked up a shoddy wood carving of what he guessed was supposed to be a turtle, adorned with a pair of googley-eyes, both looking in two separate directions.

"You never told me you lived in a castle," he remarked as he turned the creature over in his hands.

Curtis shifted on the bed, making the springs creak. "Uh, technically speaking, it needs two more rooms to be considered a castle. Or that's what the legislation says."

"Oh, yeah? What does the legislation say about having a terrifying mother guarding the front door?" Dante turned around to smirk at the blonde.

Curtis laughed uncomfortably. Clearly, that was all he wished to say about that.

Moving along, Dante admired the stacks of professional-looking paintings and prints, each of them embellished with Curtis' signature.

"Did you draw all these? Even this one?"

"Sure did."

"Huh! I didn't know you were an artist. These are really nice, man."

Curtis shrugged the compliment off with a shy smile. No one had ever called him an artist before. Dante laughed fondly as he investigated the largest of the shelves, one which sported a collection of vintage action figures unabashedly displayed for all to see. Then again, he reminded himself, Curtis likely didn't get very many visitors.

"Cozy place," he commented as he sat down on the ground beside Curtis' bed. His nose wrinkled as he was introduced to the most recent release. Dante had come to the conclusion that out of all the horrors Curtis' bowels could produce (and God knows there was many), his silent farts were by far the most terrifying.

"Yeesh! Wow, you know I have ears, right? How about a little warning next time?"

"I told you that you shouldn't have come here," Curtis replied, his groans mingling with the vicious burbles of his disturbed system. "I know I don't exactly smell like daisies most of the time, but even _my_ nose hurts today. And don't get me started on what it was like last night..." His eyes closed over as he recounted the harrowing experience.

"Well, my good sir, I think you'd be very interested to hear about my latest invention."

Dante smiled knowingly as Curtis flashed him a confused look. From one pocket he produced a packet of tissues, and from another, a small tub of prescribed lip balm. Curtis watched as he applied a layer of the gel underneath his nose.

"Pinched it from the medicine cabinet. It's high-strength stuff," Dante grinned cockily, then gagged when Curtis immediately let one off again. "Yuck! Oh, come on!"

Curtis cracked a small smile at his reaction. "You aren't the only one with high strength stuff," he pointed out.

"Don't I know it." Dante playfully rolled his eyes. "So just to be sure..." He crammed two pieces of tissue up each nostril and winked.

"What'd you think? I call it the _Curtis Kit_. For only 9.99, you can enjoy instant relief from a certain someone's gastrointestinal episodes. I'm going to set up a stall outside your lectures. Might feed you some beans before you go inside. You know, to boost sales on slow days."

Curtis laughed but was quickly silenced by his churning stomach. The apprehensive expression on his face told Dante that something exceptionally bad was brewing within.

"Dude, you really should go now," the cursed boy urged him. "I wanna hang out with you, but…" _Gggggglllllooooouuurrrrggg!_ "…w-we could've just talked over the phone or something."

Dante chuckled and reached forward to run his hand over the blonde's downy bedhead. 

"Chill out, broheim,” he assured him. “I came here knowing things would get stinky. It is _you_ , after all. Just do what you have to do. You know I don't care."

Curtis blushed. He wished he could tell Dante how much he appreciated him without sounding too mushy. Though, personally, he didn't see anything wrong with a little mush between friends.

"I don't think I could even get out of bed," he said.

"That's cool," Dante replied. "You don't have to. I didn't want to do anything, anyway. In fact, I thought we could just... you know, talk."

"Sure," Curtis shuffled to make himself more comfortable. He rested his head in his hand. "What'd you wanna talk about?"

"Uhh..." Dante's voice lilted edgily toward the end, and he looked down at the ground. "I dunno. What'd _you_ wanna talk about?"

Curtis' forehead wrinkled as he thought long and hard about this. 

"Hmmm... uhhhh... oh, I know! Okay, so I saw this _really_ cool cloud last night that was shaped like-"

"Actually, Curtis, I do know what I wanna talk about," Dante interrupted. It was now or never. Literally. Once Curtis got on the topic of clouds, it was hard to divert the conversation toward anything else. "I came here because I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like, uh - well, actually, not ask. I wanted to _propose_ something. I was going to tell you after class, but I needed a little time to work out the kinks, you know? Plus, you _had_ to spend the entire walk home telling me about that other cloud you saw."

Curtis nodded, patiently waiting for him to elaborate. Dante took a deep breath and plunged in.

"When I was in my chemistry class yesterday, I came up with this idea. It's a sort of project. But not a class project. A _personal_ project."

"Sign me up!"

Quietening, Dante averted his gaze. Was it wrong of him to include Curtis in his no-good, moderately well-intentioned deeds, when the boy was so willing to be included in something, _anything_ that involved other people? Dante didn't want to take advantage of him, just his… literal _arse_ nal.

Curtis took this reaction as a sign of reluctance, and his exuberant smile faded away.

"I mean - I don't _have_ to help, heh." He sunk back down onto the bed with a faint, nervous laugh. "I get it if you'd rather I didn't. I know I'm not very good company."

He farted loudly and whined at the poor timing. But for Dante, it couldn't be more perfect.

"Actually, Curtis, you're **exactly** who I want to help me with this."

"…I am?"

Dante suddenly sat up, his eyes shining brightly. "What if I told you that I had a plan for taking this, uh, this…" He gestured to Curtis' behind. "This _handicap_ of yours, and turning it into a force for good?"

Curtis glanced unsurely over his shoulder. His butt? A force for good? That would be a first.

"I'm... cautiously listening," he said.

"So get a load of this," Dante was trembling; he could barely contain his exhilaration. "Herk has a pansy stomach!"

He had underestimated how long it could take for the cogs in his friend’s head to blow off the cobwebs and get the wheels turning, so for several seconds Curtis stared at him with his mouth wide open and his mind clearly drawing a blank. 

Dante exhaled calmly. He had learned to adapt to Curtis' occasional blonde moments.

"Alright, so when I was in my afternoon lecture, Chunk and Elvor had to resit an assessment. They messed up and made a sulfur solution and totally stunk out the laboratory with it. You should've seen how Herk reacted, man. It was like the vomit version of Ol' Faithful." The brunette smirked as he recalled the events. Who knew he would've ended up _enjoying_ their attendance in class. "Now, you remember what you did to those werewolves, right?"

"Actually, _you_ made me do that," Curtis quietly corrected him, but Dante didn't hear it.

"Imagine letting it rip like that in a place like, say - I don't know, the changing room near the east wing?" Dante suggested coyly. "Imagine how he'd react to _that!_ He would erupt! Just like you! But out the other end!"

"But…"

"Obviously, it wouldn't just be him, we'd throw the other two into the equation as well. They aren't totally innocent either. But Herk's our main victim. He's the one we're going after."

"Our _victim?_ " Curtis repeated. His brain had finally synced with Dante's vision, and it didn't like what it was picturing. "Dante, are you talking about getting _revenge?_ That's your project?"

"Yes! That's it! Isn't it great?"

Curtis stared at him for a moment more.

Then he thrust his face into his pillow.

"...that's not the reaction I was hoping for," Dante commented flatly.

The blonde hid his head underneath the blankets. Dante heard muffled, incomprehensible moans coming from beneath, and pushed the comforters aside to dig him back out.

"Hey, hey, talk it out with me, Curts," he said kindly. "What's up? What don't you like?"

Curtis bit his lip. Here was his chance to make his only friend happy, and what was he doing? 

_Hesitating._

He hated to rain on Dante's parade, but as eager as he was to please him – he'd just about dive off a cliffside head first if the other boy even _**hinted**_ that he wanted him to – he was just as eager to stand up for what he believed in. He didn't want to betray his morals. His father had taught him better than that.

"I've got a bad history with people getting revenge on other people," the murmured response came at last. A long, honking fart filled the air, unintentionally driving Curtis’ point home.

Dante felt his enthusiasm go limp. It was a strong argument. One he hadn't actually considered.

"What happened to you was unjustified, Curtis,” his tone softened sympathetically. “You were only a little kid. It was cruel and unfair because you didn't do anything to deserve it." 

Dante paused, feeling the fire course through his body once more. 

"But what _we're_ gonna do? They deserve every minute. You've seen the way they treat people. You've experienced it yourself. We're not the only ones who've suffered because of them. Don't you think it's time they took some instead of dishing it out?"

"I get why you want to do it," Curtis said placatingly. "And I guess in some ways, it's _kind_ of noble. But is it... even?"

"Even?"

"Well, what they did to _you_ isn't half as bad as what you wanna do to them," Curtis explained matter-of-factly. 

Dante's expression hardened. 

"Wait," Curtis added, "wait, I didn't mean-! I'm sorry. I’m sorry, Dante, I shouldn't have said that. Heck, I wasn't even there when it happened! Whadda _I_ know?"

But Dante had turned away from him. Curtis groaned, angry at himself for being so reckless with his vocabulary, especially after he had judged Dante for doing the same thing. He wouldn't be surprised if Dante didn't want to be near him anymore. And not just because he was a bedbound biohazard.

A tense silence divided them.

Then there was another proposal.

"Do you want to know what happened?"

Curtis glanced in the male's direction, clearly taken back by the offer. He considered it carefully. He could recall Dante being adamant about not wanting to talk about the incident whenever he had suggested doing so, and as such, he saw it more as a challenge than an invitation.

"Well... I know what I heard," he shrugged. "I don't think it's that-"

"And what you heard was that I pissed myself, right?" Dante cut in.

"Mhm…"

"Do you know _why_ I did that?"

"Cause you really had to go number one?"

"No, Curtis, no…"

Dante sat with his back to Curtis. He didn't want the other to see how ashen he had become. 

"I did it because I was terrified," he admitted.

Curtis picked up on the gravity in Dante's whispered words. He let the statement hang in the air for a while before he said anything.

"I get that,” he soothed. “I've been beat up a _bajillion_ times – maybe more. But it doesn't get any less scary."

"It wasn't about them beating me up, Curtis."

Curtis stared at the back of Dante's head. Now he _knew_ something was going on, and he knew it was his turn to listen.

The brunette closed his eyes and listened to the panicked palpitations of his heart. What he was about to say could have insurmountable consequences. It would, undoubtedly, change what Curtis thought of him. And it would, potentially, backfire horribly, as it had in the past. Considering all that he had been through before, confiding in Curtis was a fool's errand.

But this was Curtis. This was the guy who risked his life defending Dante from a pack of werewolves, even after Dante hadn't treated him all that well. This was the guy he had been drawn to for reasons he couldn't explain, only knowing that he was connected to him in a way he hadn't felt connected with anyone else – not even his friendship with Liza or Paul _or_ Tim could compare to the feelings he had for Curtis. The similarities in their situations were few and far between, sure, but Curtis understood what it was like to be judged for something that according to everyone else, was your only defining feature, and he had suffered because of it just as much as Dante had. 

Sometimes, as his mother would say, you can just _feel_ it with a person. You just know. And Dante could feel it with Curtis. Curtis could be trusted.

...hopefully.

He took a deep breath. He ran through the sentence he prepared in his head - and then he decided to ditch it. He'd talk from the heart. That way, his words would be fully authentic.

Curtis deserved that much.

"I wasn't always like this, Curtis," he started, purposely vague. It felt safer, less daunting to beat around the bush. "I didn't always dress like this. Or sound like this. Or look anything like this. I wasn't even called Dante. If you had walked past me on the street, you wouldn't have known it was me. I always knew I was supposed to be the way I am now, but I wasn't always able to show it. The circumstances weren't... they weren't great for me. You know? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Hesitantly, Dante glimpsed over his shoulder. He hoped he wouldn't have to spell it out any further.

Curtis nodded back at him.

"My mom was cool with it, but my dad... well, you know about that. Things got a lot better after he left. I was able to start looking and acting more like myself. My _true_ self. It was over a summer that everything sort of fell into place for me. The summer before I started high school…"

As he retreated into the recesses of the memory, Dante's voice grew frailer.

"I thought the timing couldn't be more perfect. It was a new town, a new school and, in more ways than one, a new start. But you know what they say. Too good to be true," he snorted weakly. "I guess someone recognized my face. I never found out who, but it doesn't matter. They did a little digging and they managed to dig up this... ancient part of me. All it took was one day of rumors, and everybody knew about it. It spread like wildfire. And nobody saw me as _just_ Dante after that. I was Dante with this _thing_ attached to me."

"Just my luck, of course," he went on, "that Herk's cousin happened to go to that old school. I must've come up in conversation one day. Probably because of that stupid chemistry class. Either way, Herk found out about me and my history. When we were in the changing rooms that Friday afternoon, he threatened to tell everybody else about it. Right then. In the hallway. In front of _everyone._ And once again, just like before, I didn't get to choose what people knew about me."

Dante lapsed into silence, listening to the rain splashing onto the treetops outside. Rather abruptly, he whipped around and put his face close to Curtis’.

"Let me be clear about one thing: I don't hate myself for what I am. I don't want you thinking that, _ever._ What I am is what it is and I'm perfectly okay with that. I always have been. It's everybody else that has the problem," he snapped.

And then the fire faded, and all that was left was enervated embers.

"I - I just want that _control_ , Curtis," he stammered. "People shouldn't get to just _know_ these things. That's something I should get to _give_ them, if I trust them enough. Like the way I trust you."

"Did he tell everyone?" Curtis whispered, wide-eyed. Dante swore he saw him shudder. He seemed to be even more troubled by the story than he was.

"No. No, he didn't, thank god. Professor Timble stepped in before it got that far. But it was close. Too close. That's why I did what I did. I was scared." He swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling his chest getting tighter with every word. "I thought I was gonna lose everything I worked hard for. My friends... alright, they might've been assholes that just stood there and let Herk terrorize me, and on top of _that_ , they had to go and kick me out of the group - but I'd be lying if I said I don't miss them. I miss them like crazy, man. Or I miss what I had, I guess. Because I've never really had that before. I had _nobody_ , and when you finally _get_ somebody, and it's somebody that actually _likes_ you and wants to spend time with you? Once you’ve got it, you can’t get enough. It's something else."

Curtis gazed affectionately at the male beside him. He knew exactly what that felt like.

"I know it makes me sound like a dipshit, but not a day goes by where I don’t think about them. I think about old times, I think about if they miss me as much as I miss them. And it's driving me crazy imagining how they would've reacted if Herk _had_ told everybody about my secret. I want to think they'd be okay with it, that they liked me enough to not care, but - I mean, if they won't talk to me for the piss thing, why the hell would they talk to me for being…"

He trailed off with an empty, fear-wracked laugh. And then it hit him, that it was out there and there was nothing he could do, except believe in himself and his judgment of character. Maybe he had Curtis all wrong. With this sensitive information at his dispense, maybe Curtis would cause him as much harm as Herk almost had. Maybe he would-

A hand warmed his shoulder, rescuing him from the swarm of negative thoughts.

"I don't know if it matters, 'cause I'm nowhere near as cool as your other friends," Curtis' eyes crinkled to make room for the loving smile that filled his face. "But for what it's worth, Dante, I'm not going anywhere. _Ever._ I promise you. I said I would be here for you, and I still am. I always will be. No matter what."

The corner of Dante's mouth twitched. It was embarrassing to admit how much he would've liked to let go of the sob he was holding back, and something told him Curtis probably wouldn't mind. After all, he was used to people tearing up around him (admittedly for very different reasons.)

"Yeah. Yeah, I know, buddy," he sniffed. Seeking comfort, his fingers played with a few fluffy strands of Curtis' short hair. "Much like the stink on your ass, I might be stuck with you forever, hmm?"

He couldn't stray too far from humor. Especially when he was feeling as vulnerable as he was right now. Curtis giggled and bumped his head into Dante's palm to encourage some rubs. Dante was more than happy to provide him with them.

"I'm not an idiot, I know it's a dumb plan. But Herk knows _I_ know that he's got the upper-hand. And if we did this, well, maybe he'd think twice about loosening his lips… whatever. Thanks for humoring me, Ferg."

"Hey, I should be thanking you."

Dante frowned. "For what?"

"For trusting me!" Curtis beamed. "I'm happy you're as comfortable with me as I am with you. Thank _you_."

Dante couldn't stop the tears from forming this time. He quickly pulled Curtis toward him before the blonde could see his reaction, knuckles readying to grind into the boy's head. But something filthy invaded his nostrils before he could do so.

"Aw, Curtis! What is it with you and the SBDs during our heartfelt moments, man?!"

"It's not gonna be an SBD for long," Curtis' voice quivered frightfully. Dante's head tilted in confusion as he heard the bubbling coming from Curtis' gut start to rage into an actual boil.

And whatever was boiling inside was ready to _blow._

"Dude, you're gonna have to get the remote!"

"The _what?_ "

Curtis pointed to the desk. Hearing how distressed both Curtis and his tummy sounded, Dante wasted no time in hauling ass. He discovered the small plastic device on top of a pile of comic books. There was an array of nameless buttons on its surface. 

"If you're seriously telling me _now_ that your ass had an off switch this whole time..."

"It's for the vent!" Curtis cried, his panic amplifying as razor-sharp cramps tore through his rippling abdomen. He didn't like how desperate his bowels were to evacuate this beast. 

Dante glanced upward and finally noticed the complicated-looking system engineered into the ceiling. It was what he imagined the control panel of an alien mothership to look like. 

"What the hell is-"

"Turn it up all the way! Now!"

"How? Which button is it?!"

"The one with the arrow that… oh no, _oh no_ …"

Dante fumbled with the remote. He looked at Curtis for further instruction, only to notice that the boy was in the process of pulling his boxers down his freckled ass.

"Are - are you _stripping?!_ Why are so many things happening right now?"

"I am _not_ ruining my ducky boxers," Curtis asserted, as though he found the very notion deplorable.

Ruin them? How bad was this blast going to be? Dante continued to violently prod every last button on the remote, hoping that somehow whatever he was doing would have a successful outcome. The last thing he remembered was hearing the vent whirring as the fans went into overdrive, and telling Curtis it wouldn't go any higher, and then seeing the figurines and knick-knacks launch off the shelf as the room was swallowed by a sonic boom…

And then he was lying on the floor.

But he didn't exactly know that yet. All he knew was that his throat was dry, his head hurt **big time** , and his eyes felt heavy, and when he opened them, there were three Curtis' looking down at him, and all six hands were dabbing a cold compress onto his forehead.

"Hey, bud," the brunette greeted nonchalantly, licking his lips. "We dead?"

Curtis breathed out a sigh of relief. He was so glad Dante was awake again. It had almost been fifteen minutes, and he didn't know how he felt about telling the emergency services that he had injured his friend with a titanic fart.

"No, we're not. But I think the vent is."

Dante's blurry vision just about made out the thin trails of smoke wafting out from the machine. Every now and then, something would frizzle and pop on the inside.

He groaned and tried to sit up.

"Not yet," Curtis said, gently guiding him back down. "You hit your head real hard, man. I'd take it easy for a while."

"What the hell happened?" Dante asked as he observed the wreckage that was now Curtis' room. "Why am I down here?"

"You, uh... well, you, uhm, uh… oh! I just remembered! You tripped! Yeah, that's it!"

"Has anyone in the history of the Fergle family ever successfully told a lie?" Dante quipped. He rested his head back on the pillow Curtis had propped underneath him. It was easy to piece together the truth. 

"So you finally knocked me out, huh? Ha! I was wondering how long it would take."

Curtis' face flushed in shame as he rubbed his hand back and forth across his middle. "My stupid stomach," he whimpered. "I tried to hold it back..."

But Dante wasn't looking for an apology. In his mind (his somewhat still _comatose_ mind), Curtis had apologized enough.

"What did I tell you, dude? That ass of yours. It's just _begging_ to be weaponized. You know, it's kind of like a superpower!"

"Pretty lame superpower," Curtis scoffed dejectedly.

"Who says?" Dante rebutted. "A bunch of jerks who think they have the right to make you feel bad about yourself? I think it's about time you started embracing it. Forget about what everyone else says. Forget about that weirdo witch lady and your crazy mom! What some may call a curse, I call a gift. It's all about _perspective._ "

"Jeez, you hit your head harder than I thought," Curtis mumbled. He cast his gaze around the ruined room. His mother would be furious when she found out he had cracked one of the windows, and destroyed the vent… again. 

But that was a problem for another day. Right now, he had some thinking to do.

And with Curtis, that could sometimes take a while.

"It _is_ powerful," he reluctantly confessed.

"And in the right hands," Dante continued with a yearnful sigh, "it could be something great."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"... maybe you could tell me more about this project."

Dante's eyes opened in surprise. "Seriously?"

"I just want to _hear_ it," Curtis gently tempered his friend's hope. "I'm not signing onto anything yet."

"Oh, I guarantee, after I'm finished, you're gonna be one-hundred-percent sold on Operation Rectal Revenge!" Dante coughed when he saw Curtis' reaction to the name. "Okay, okay, it's a work in progress. Nobody said I wasn't open to suggestions."

Curtis leaned over and lightly dabbed some more at Dante's bruised head.

"You can try, dude. But don't think you'll talk me into this _that_ easily."


	10. The Operation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter contains:_
> 
> \- Transphobia and transphobic language, including the use of the t-slur

Curtis cleaned his sauce-slathered mouth with the back of his hand and let out a fatigued and wearisome breath. His gaze was apathetic as it fell upon the oversized burrito that was disintegrating into grotesque blobs in his hand. It was his fourth of the hour, yet it felt more like his fortieth.

What had Dante _put_ in these things?

It seemed that no matter how many bites he took – and he reckoned he had to have taken at _least_ a thousand since they started - the monstrous snacks refused to shrink. His stomach, on the other hand, had inflated with every meat-filled morsel. Even the roomy hoodie he was wearing, something he had deliberately selected knowing perfectly well what he was getting himself into that day, was starting to hug his figure as it stretched tirelessly over his distended abdomen.

Curtis could only imagine the strain his shorts would soon be under. If they happened to rip, at least he had put on appropriate underwear. These ones had duckies **and** rainbows.

Uniting to defeat one common enemy (that enemy being Curtis' dignity and social acceptability and overall feelings of contentment toward himself and his body), the curse and his digestive system were cooking up a hell of a maelstrom together. One that was by powered by the spice, fat and grease-laden dishes Dante had prepared or purchased. One that was fuelled by the anxiety caused by the plan Curtis had somehow been coerced into participating in.

One that required him to actually take pride in his… _unique_ abilities.

The blonde forced another mouthful of peppery rice and sour cream down the hatchet and shuddered as it settled restlessly in his irritable stomach.

"I can't believe you talked me into this that easily," he said.

"You do realize you aren't that hard to convince, right?" Dante laughed and rubbed a paper towel over Curtis' smeared chin, then went back to stirring the mystery contents of a tupperware container. "I hadn't even finished my first sentence and you already said yes. You yelled it, actually. Three separate times."

"I just like being included in things…"

"I know you do. And look at you now! You've got the starring role," the brunette encouraged with a genial smile. A spoon was held out in front of Curtis' face. "Now open up!"

He shoveled a heaping portion of curry into the boy's widened mouth. His jaw aching from all that he had already devoured, Curtis chewed halfheartedly on the hunks of flavored meat dowsed in tangy juices. He swallowed and readied himself as another ball of fire soared up his throat.

Dante jumped back just in time as a roasting hot belch fled from the other's lips, but it couldn't stop his face from being bathed in the smelly heat.

"Woah! A+ for melody on that one, Curt. How we doing?"

 _"OoooooooooooooooggggghhhhhhhhhhhIthinkmyinsidesaredying…"_ Curtis grieved, which was the most candid answer he could give.

In its struggle, his stomach cried the blues. The noise sounded like a watercooler getting rid of air bubbles and irrefutably indicated that Curtis would be letting off some air bubbles of his own soon. Dante was all too aware of this, and if the way he was dancing on the spot was anything to go by, he was pretty damn stoked about it.

"Do you _hear_ that? You're half a burrito away from total lethality, buddy! Just imagine how bad it's gonna reek down there!"

He handed Curtis the container and spoon and filled his empty hand with a screwdriver, crowing all the while.

"I think that's a more exciting prospect for you than it is for me," Curtis mumbled as he prudently accepted the _'gift'._ He was the catalyst for creating the unpleasant smells, which meant weathering the incapacitating intestinal irritation that preceded them. Passing literal _buttloads_ of gas wasn't exactly what he'd call a good time.

Not that he wasn't happy to help Dante. He'd do just about anything if it meant he got to please his only friend, and apparently 'just about anything' included putting himself through hours of physical agony. But Curtis could cope with that, and the aromatic results it produced. He had eight long, hard, smelly years of experience under his belt.

The question was whether someone _else_ could.

The means by which they were seeking vengeance together perturbed the blonde. Curtis wasn't sure Dante understood the dangers of aggravating his enchanted stomach; not even the legion of doctors who had attempted to cure him could determine what the magic was truly capable of. Well, whether he liked it or not, they were about to find out…

"Alright, let's try this again."

Curtis watched Dante squat in the corner of the room. If Curtis had the starring role, then that corner was his stage. The duo were cramped inside one of the academy's many inventory closets. It was in this specific closet that there was a specific ventilation pathway, one that connected to a specific changing room below their feet, where, as they were speaking, three specific males were returning from basketball practice.

Dante was in the process of unscrewing the metal grate so that Curtis might plant his ass directly inside the vent. When the time was right, he would exhaust all of his poison straight into the system. From there, his fumigating flatulence would seep its way into the locker room and torture its haplessly trapped occupants.

It was Dante's magnum opus. His seminal work. His piece de resistance.

And it was _so_ worth the imminent chastisement from the Dean.

The brunette's watch buzzed. He whistled at Curtis, wiggling his thick eyebrows as if to tantalize him. "T-minus twelve minutes," he said. "Cory should be in position by now."

"Great! … Remind me what that is again?"

Dante sighed laboriously. Curtis wasn't quite as obsessed with the microscopic details of the Operation to the extent that he was. That was to be expected, he supposed, it wasn't _his_ beloved brainchild.

"He has the most important role of all." Curtis' stomach gurgled, as if in disagreement. "…apart from you, obviously. He's our sentry."

"We need a sentry?"

"Dude, didn't you listen to the eighteen voice-notes I sent you last night?"

"I did, but a lot of it was… uh… kinda hard to keep up with," Curtis said, using the last shreds of tortilla to lap up the curry he had spilled down the front of himself. He didn't want to tell Dante that he had sounded like a mad scientist outlining his evilest of plans, complete with a bizarre laugh at one point when he accidentally made a pun.

"And there was all this screaming in the background, too," he continued between bites. "It sounded like somebody was getting murdered."

"Yeah, my mom was doing math homework with Frankie," Dante explained. He unscrewed another bolt and tried to prise the grate out of place, but it wouldn't shift. Not yet. "We need somebody to keep watch, Curtis. He's making sure nobody gets in, and that those three don't get _out_."

"And he's okay with helping us?"

"Duh! He wanted payback as much as we did. He's very committed to the cause," Dante boasted. There was a pause, to which he cleared his throat. "But, I did also have to pay him sixty bucks, so…"

The blonde belched heartily and set the empty container aside. He felt he had earned a break - and that meant a tummy rub! His right hand lifted his hoodie while his left burrowed underneath, ready to clap and caress a hot and bothered belly. He'd have to fast for three days to make it up to himself. Chilli beef and vindaloo chicken does not a happy stomach make.

Curtis' hand grazed against something huge. And stiff. And before your mind goes elsewhere, no, this thing was not located in his pants.

"Oh _balls,_ " he whimpered.

He had been bloated many times before. Every day of his life for as long as he could remember, pretty much. But this - this _unnatural_ thing that was protruding from his abdomen - was not a simple bloat. A simple bloat didn't feel as taut and as tense and as drum-like as his did right now. With every breath, he could feel the pressure increasing on his diaphragm as his severely potbellied stomach ballooned into all the usual free spaces.

And now that his fear was making him tune in more attentively to the goings-on of his gastrointestinal tract, Curtis had never heard his bowels complain quite as passionately as this. His oversized garment was concealing a concerning sight, but it couldn't hide the sounds of a compromised digestive system overworking to crush up all that processed food. Nor could it disguise the tinges and pangs as the tormina strengthened in its intensity.

To add to the perilousness of his situation, most of his feast had consisted of ingredients Curtis had been forbidden from eating since the day he had been cursed. He literally had a document stored in the back of a wardrobe somewhere that had been signed off by a team of specialists long ago, declaring that under _no_ circumstances should he be allowed to put these things into his body, and certainly not in such grossly indulgent quantities.

 _Great,_ he lamented. _Now I'm crisis-level bloated **and** I'm a criminal._

His eyes trailed over the makeshift buffet table Dante had laid out on one of the steel trolleys normally used to carry electrical equipment. Unluckily for Curtis, there were plenty of containers and foil-wrapped trays waiting for him.

"Uh, Dante? How much more do I have to eat...?"

"Good question," Dante joined him in surveying the selection. "I should have another tub of curry somewhere. You already finished all of the pizza, but I think there's a tray of cheese-covered sprouts, if you want 'em."

"But I _hate_ sprouts," Curtis griped.

"But they're covered in cheese. And you _love_ cheese."

"Smothering it in cheese doesn't change anything about their sproutiness. That disguise doesn't fool me!"

Dante rolled his eyes then snapped his fingers. "Hey, I almost forgot!"

He grabbed his backpack from underneath the trolley, unzipped it and pulled out a stainless steel beaker. Curtis heard a thick, liquidy substance slosh around inside as Dante shook it up and down.

"What's in there?" he asked, wishing he had just eaten the sprouts instead.

"Something to wash down all this tasty stuff with," Dante replied with a wink. 

Curtis twisted the lid open and sniffed the milky contents. He couldn't smell anything off about it, so he went ahead and tested it with a single sip. This sip then turned into a very large gulp. His facial expression transitioned through several different phases of approval and disapproval as he filled his esophagus with half a liter of the unknown beverage.

_**BBBBBBOOOUUURP!** _

"I'm confused," he said at last. 

Dante wafted the burp away. "You almost always are, Curtis. It's a protein shake."

"Dante, I don't think _one_ of these is gonna give me much muscle…"

"With an ass like yours, you don't need muscles. Haven't you ever been in one of those locker rooms? Protein farts are the closest non-cursed people can get to smelling like you!"

Curtis' flesh crawled. He could feel his stomach reacting to the vanilla-flavored concoction. It was like an overloaded washing machine being switched onto the highest setting.

"...and you _really_ think I should be drinking this?"

"Curtis, I don't think you should be consuming **_any_** of this," Dante stated gravely, gesticulating toward the assortment of gassy dishes. "It's going to seriously test that bewitched booty of yours. And we all know how your tummy feels about you without you actively trying to offend it."

His face broke out into a Cheshire Cat grin.

"That's what makes it such a fantastically terrible plan! Hehehehe! Oh, I'm _such_ a genius!"

Curtis knew he shouldn't have asked. He nervously sipped some more of the shake. Even if it would amp up his stinkiness, he needed something to quench his salty thirst, and it didn't taste that bad.

_**FFFFFrrruuuufffrrrrt!** _

Curtis halted mid-sip, eyes flitting toward Dante to see if he had noticed. A gusty fart had sneaked out of his pants and drummed a brassy beat against the surface of the wooden table he was sitting on. 

"Curtis," Dante said in a gently scolding tone, as though he were warning a dog for nibbling on an expensive piece of furniture. He had gone back to working on his own assignment, and his flatulent sidekick had obviously assumed that because he had turned away from him, he was now invisible to the whole room.

 _Curtis Logic would make for a fascinating thesis,_ he noted.

"What?" 

"I hate to break it to you, but just because I can't see you do it doesn't mean I don't know you ripped one. Funny how that works, huh?"

**_Bbbbrrrmmmrrrft!_ **

"I don't know what you're talking about," Curtis lied, through his teeth, as usual.

"I already told you, man. You gotta keep it bottled up! I don't want you wasting that good stuff on my unworthy nostrils." As the cloying stink spread out towards him, Dante was forced to vacate a whooping cough. "Yeesh! Although you might be right about those sprouts. I think you _have_ had enough."

The greasy cargo swirled violently inside of Curtis and he couldn't resist squeezing out a squeaker to ease the pressure.

"How can you expect me to hold it in after you've fed me all this stuff?" He winced as he farted again. "...oops..."

"You don't have long to go before you can get rid of it all," Dante said. "Just try to keep it in. Please. _For me?_ "

He turned and faced the blonde with an especially dewy-eyed look.

Curtis shook his head vehemently.

"Nope! Stop it! Don't give me the Dante Eyes! It's not gonna work this time!"

Dante gave him the Dante Eyes even harder. Curtis _"Willpower Is My Middle Name, Just Don't Check My Birth Certificate"_ Fergle immediately threw in the towel and impatiently crossed his legs, hoping it might dilute the sensation of wind viciously jostling through his tract.

Now that he didn't have to eat or drink or do anything at all, Curtis was left with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him. He was not a mean person. He had endured plenty of meanness in his young life, and he knew how it felt and the damage it could do.

So how could he subject another to his curse's wrath on _purpose?_ Even if it was someone as awful and as cruel as Herk and his friends? Wouldn't that make him just as bad? Was he the bad guy now? Was he the new Herk?

No. That couldn't be. Curtis didn't _want_ to be the new Herk. He was villainous, and worst of all, he was pretty sure that guy never trimmed his fingernails...

His stomach started to bubble up, and knowing precisely what that would lead to, he frantically tried to think of something else to occupy his wandering mind and anxious guts. "What about the beans?!"

Dante exhaled sharply at his friend's exclamation. "What _about_ the beans?"

"Weren't you supposed to bring beans with you?"

"Uh, no," Dante side-eyed the shorter male. " _You_ were supposed to bring beans. My stance on the beans was and still _is_ firmly neutral. But you wouldn't shut up about there being beans here, so I told you that if it meant that much to you, you could bring your own beans."

"No, you said _you_ were gonna bring them," the blonde asserted, as sweat dripped down his neck.

"Curtis, I _remember_ telling you that I-"

"You said you were going to bring beans so I didn't bring beans 'cause I thought you were gonna bring the beans!" Curtis shouted.

"If I was supposed to bring the beans, then I would've brought the damn beans, Curtis!" Dante shouted right back.

"So there's no beans? What am I gonna do without the beans!?"

"Curtis," Dante said, rising to his feet and tiredly dragging a hand down his face, "you don't need any-"

"It's not gonna work without the beans, man!"

Curtis latched onto Dante's shoulders and shook him as aggressively as someone of his scrawny stature could.

"I need the beans! I need them! I need them! I need them I need them I NEED-"

Dante slapped the boy across the face. Curtis ceased his verbal diarrhea.

"Curtis," Dante leaned in closely. "You're literally cursed to be gassy _all the time_ , buddy. Remember?"

"…oh. Yeah. Right."

**_BBBBBBRRRRVVVVRRRRRrrBBBbbrrbbbBRbrbrbrbruuuffuurrrttthhrrrttlprrlpuuvvvrrrvrrrpppllrrrpprrrllllrrrrrrrrbblbbrbrbrbllbrrbbbbllle!_ **

A clammy fart burst forth from the blonde's rump and swamped the room in a spate of muddy fumes. Dante held his nose as the air was stifled by the spoiled stench, worsened by the anxiety the other was clearly experiencing. He knew that when a fart was that bubbly and fetid, Curtis had to be suffering from an acute case of nerves.

"Curtis, why are you _so_ stressed out about this?"

"I'm not-"

 **Prrrpoooort! Prrpt-Prrrpt-PPPUURP!**

Curtis yanked his hoodie down to cover his backside. The attack of uncontrollable flatulence laughed in the face of this attempt to contain it and continued to bluster out of his ass.

"…I'm not stressed out."

Dante folded his arms over his chest. Buying it he was not. Curtis' jaw trembled as his heebie-jeebies flooded to the surface. He slumped against the wall and slid down it until his body had creased into a smelly, swollen heap onto the floor.

"Idon'tthinmfrihersonforjob!" He wailed.

"Didn't quite catch that, dude. Try not sobbing hysterically while you say it."

"I don't think I'm the right person for this job!"

"I _knew_ I should've asked that other cursed guy," Dante joked. But Curtis wasn't in the mood to be humored. Dante slumped against the wall in a similar manner and plopped himself down beside his windy, worrisome friend.

"What're you talking about? This plan _revolves_ around you. It was designed with you in mind. Of course you're the right person, man. Only your superpowered butt could achieve a feat like this."

"But it's not a superpower," Curtis bemoaned. He sniffed and mopped his cheeks of stray tears. "It's not a gift or a talent or… or anything good. It's a _curse_."

"Sure, if you wanna get technical. So what?"

"So it's not something I should be showing off! It's ruined my life for the last eight years and now it's about to ruin somebody else's!"

Dante paused for thought, rubbing at the light covering of stubble on his chin.

"I know how you feel," he said. "Bringing this weird part of you out of the shadows and looking at it in a different light is never easy. I speak from experience."

He smiled lopsidedly.

"But it's not about what you have, man, or whether it's good or bad. It's about what you do with it."

"What I _have_ is a problem," Curtis ducked his head and stared crestfallenly at the ground. "And what I _am_ is a great, big, stinky loser."

Dante scratched the back of his neck. It felt wrong on every level to see someone as happy-go-lucky as Curtis suddenly so depressed. Maybe he shouldn't have taken Curtis' eager disposition for granted...

"What happened to the guy who told me never to let other people make me feel crappy about myself?" he asked. "You gotta take a line out of your own self-help column, buddy."

"I tell myself that stuff so I don't go insane, Dante. It doesn't change anything about what people think of me. Everybody knows I'm a freak."

"I don't care about everybody else or what they think," Dante retorted sternly, even though he knew he was in no position to be spouting statements like that. He cared what other people thought about him. Deeply. Obsessively. That was the sole reason for the Operation's existence.

But he absolutely did not care for what other people thought about Curtis. They didn't know him the way he did. Though maybe they would, soon enough.

"And you know something? After this - after they find out how you _finally_ put these assholes in their place? They're not gonna think what they think about you now. They're not gonna hold their noses when you walk by. They're not gonna laugh at you and call you names. They're not gonna run away screaming every time they see you coming because you smell like a giant, garlic-infused diaper."

Dante paid no attention to the annoyed look that crossed Curtis' face.

"They're gonna see a whole new side to you, Curtis. They're gonna let you _in._ They're gonna ask you to sit with them at lunch and invite you to their parties and all that junk. You're… you're gonna be their hero!"

Silence possessed the space between them until both boys caught the other's eye and erupted with laughter. Even Curtis wasn't that naïve.

"Nice try," the blonde shook his head.

"Alright, maybe they won't go _that_ far," Dante conceded warmly. "Point is, you don't have to do anything you don't wanna do. You wanna call it quits? We'll call it quits. The fact that you did all this, ate all of this, and are almost certainly going to be suffering on the shitter later tonight because of me?" The brunette shrugged. "You're a hero to me. No matter how much of a stinky loser you are. And God knows you _are_ pretty stinky."

Curtis sighed spiritlessly. Dante knew he still wasn't taking his support to heart, and he wouldn't have his little buddy feeling down-in-the-dumps if he could help it.

"Hey. Hey, Curtis."

The blonde felt an elbow nudging into his side.

"Who's the Ferg?" Dante asked.

Curtis whispered a dull response.

"I can't hear you. Who's the Ferg?"

"…I'm the Ferg."

"Still not hearing it. _Who's_ the Ferg?"

" _I'm_ the Ferg."

"WHO'S the Ferg?!"

"I'M the Ferg!"

"WHO'S THE FERG?"

"I AM THE FERG!"

The boys sprung to their feet. Dante lifted Curtis' left arm in the air and mimicked a crowd cheering. With all this renewed confidence surging through his veins, and the idea that he _could_ be a hero – maybe not to the whole academy, but to _Dante_ \- etched into his mind, Curtis' felt something flutter in his chest, a blend of ambition and infatuation that sent his adrenaline levels skyrocketing.

He knew that flutter. It was the very same flutter from when he first met Dante, and subsequently _saved_ Dante. Yes, him. Farty Fergle! And none of it would have been possible without his smelly butt!

The clouds had cleared. Curtis knew what he had to do. He had to perform the most unthinkable act for a sidekick. He had to prove himself, all on his own.

_GggggGRRRrRRRRRUuuuurrrrgggle!_

"Yeah, that'll be the curry," Dante gingerly acknowledged Curtis' rumbling stomach. "I may have overdone it with the chili powder a bit..."

Curtis glanced at the door. He had his plan. Now all he needed was a getaway.

"Uh, Dante? I've got… uh, that... _special_ feeling..."

"Yeah, I know. It's called gas, Curtis. I thought you two were pretty well acquainted."

The blonde's stomach gurgled in a distinctive fashion. Dante instantly shed his cocky smirk.

" _Oh sweet Jesus._ But I think the nearest bathroom is still a couple of-"

Curtis never heard the end of Dante's directions. He had already thrown himself through the door, and perhaps to keep Dante off his trail (or, more likely, because he _did_ have a sudden need to let one go), he farted involuntarily on his way out.

The gaseous discharge blew out from his bottom in a massive wave of broiling, eggy heat, that ruthlessly encased the brunette.

"CURTIS! MY EYES!"

"Sorry!"

 _Holy shit holy shit HOLY SHIT,_ Dante actually **_tasted_** that one. He stumbled toward the trolley, snatched the cup and rid himself of the disgusting rectal relish with the remainder of the protein shake. Even after three large swallows, the gas continued to burn his tongue with its fiery zest.

What had he done? What had he created? What was he about to unleash onto his tormentors?

 _Something legendary,_ that's what.

Dante stuck his head out of the door and shouted after the blonde.

"Leave us-" _COUGH!_ "-some of that stuff to work with, buddy!" He gasped, though he knew the sun would rise in the west before Curtis could be ever empty of That Stuff.

* * *

**BRRRMPRRRSSST!** "Sorry!" **TTtTTTtRrRRTtTthhrrrmmPpPpPPPRRT!** "Didn't mean that!" **PRRRRUURRT!** "Pardon me!"

Curtis scampered down the stairs that led to the east wing. The hands that were clasping his buttocks together could only do so much in his time of need. There wasn't a cork in the world that was sturdy enough to hold back the series of explosions that fired from his rear, triggering the expectedly negative reactions from students who were just trying to get to their classes and not be suffocated by magical farts in the process. Was it really too much to ask?

_**BBBRRRAAAARRRRP!** _

In this school, that answer was always going to be yes.

Curtis the Cursed cut the cheese as he skidded around a corner and knocked out a couple of oblivious freshmen (hey, it was a rite of passage at their college – _everyone_ had to get blasted by Curtis' pants cannon at some point.) A lecture ended as he neared the changing room and the corridor started to fill up with drowsy bodies. Noses sniffed and mouths gagged as the crowd detected the tell-tale scent of _eau de Fergle,_ notably worse than normal today. Every creature automatically shot him the same disgusted look and gave him an extra wide berth as he filtered through the mass.

Curtis gave them his usual shy grin and profuse apologies - as he always did. For as long as he had been at this academy, and all throughout his years in high school and middle school as well, Curtis had been admitting guilt for his... _non-conformity._

Okay, maybe he wouldn't be considered a hero by every single one of his peers, but could there ever be a time where he wouldn't be shunned? Would taking down a few pesky bullies be enough to make them like him, incurable farts and all?

It was hard for Curtis to visualize a life where he was wanted by his community. And he supposed every establishment had to have a smelly guy, and he was just unlucky enough to have the perfect criteria needed to fill that role...

With a shake of his messy head, the blonde put the thoughts of heroes and acceptance out of his mind. He was slowly coming to terms with the truth: it really didn't matter. Not anymore. Not when he had Dante to call his friend, for he was all Curtis needed.

"Cory!"

Startled, the goblin looked around for a possible assailant and was even more disturbed when he saw the gassy boy hurtling towards him. He would've much rather it be one of his usual oppressors.

" _Curtis?_ W-What're you doing here? You're supposed to be upstairs!"

"Change of plan," Curtis said between lost breaths and tried to squeeze past the other to get to the door. "I gotta-"

_"No!"_

For a male specimen as gaunt as he, Cory held his ground. Then again, his current opponent was only _another_ scraggly guy.

"Nuh-uh. Dante didn't say anything about a change of plan," he countered suspiciously. "He would've sent me a voice-note."

_Gggggooorrrgggggrlgrrrlgrrrlbbbbuuurrrg…_

"That's why he sent me down here! _I'm_ the voice-note!" Curtis insisted, clutching his grouchy tummy with both arms.

But Cory's tenacity was unwavering. The blonde panicked as he felt a particularly passionate gas bubble knocking at his back door.

"Please, Cory, you gotta let me in, man!"

"Go back upstairs, Curtis," the sentry resisted.

Trusting his buttocks not to fail him (Curtis clearly had optimism to spare), the blonde let go of his rear and placed a hand on each of the goblin's shoulders. Cory tried not to outwardly react to being so exposed to Curtis' stomach-turning B.O and stared perplexedly as the scruffy male prepared himself.

"Cory, there comes a time in a guy's life…"

Curtis could hear the dramatic music swelling in his head as he started his speech. Or maybe that was his intestines. Either way, something was definitely swelling.

"…where the stars align, and the winds change and- _frick._ "

Curtis crossed his legs tightly. He probably shouldn't have mentioned wind.

"…and, uh, destiny calls you and says, _'Curtis, the time has come for you to become a man'_..."

"What are you doing? What is this?"

"What do you mean? It's obviously my motivational speech for you."

"How is this motivational for _me?_ You're talking about yourself!"

Curtis' guts sounded off a watery rumble, provoking an unsettled groan from his throat and turning the color of his face to a concerning shade of red. He felt Cory's wimpy muscles harden in fear of what was to come.

"If you don't let me in," the cursed boy began in an uncomfortably austere pitch of voice, "I'm going to drop a bomb out here. And it won't be pretty."

Cory's gaze finally caught onto the boy's belly. All at once, he noticed how big and bulging it was.

"But - but it's _never_ pretty," he whispered timorously.

Curtis leaned forward and stared him in the eye.

_"Exactly."_

Cory turned the handle and ushered the human into the steamy locker room. He couldn't wait to lock the door behind him. Sixty bucks wasn't anywhere near a substantial enough payment to justify being within a ten feet radius of Curtis when his stomach was making _those_ kind of noises.

That, and he really couldn't endure another second of that so-called 'speech'.

* * *

Teeming with bravado, an unpredictable posterior, and unending faith in a plan he had spent a grand total of thirty seconds mapping out, Curtis strode into the center of the changing facilities with more self-esteem than he had ever felt before.

Operation Rectal Revenge 2.0 was in full swing, and _he_ was at the helm of it all. He was a hero on a mission - a mission to defend someone who was very dear to him. Come on, what more motivation did a guy need? Nothing could stop him now!

Except if he were to find himself standing in the midst of the all-giant football team.

Which, as it so happened, he unexpectedly was.

Dante hadn't said that Herk, Chunk and Elvor wouldn't be the only ones using the room that day. It didn't take supersized nostrils to pick up on Curtis' stench, but being able to take in more of his pungency in one single sniff was not an enviable trait. The team was far from thrilled to welcome someone as perfumed as Curtis into their stuffy and windowless domain.

Curtis looked up at the sea of angered faces. He raised a shaky finger. He opened his mouth. And he immediately forgot all about what he had come in here to do.

A hero's mission? Curtis didn't know her. His confidence had withered like his mother's petunias after he accidentally cracked one off in the wrong section of the garden, and all he could think about was how easily these guys could crush him into a pulp if they so wanted to. And he had a feeling that in that moment, they really, _really_ wanted to...

**_PPpPPPPRRrRrRRRRrRRRRRLLLLTTtTTRRVvVvVVrrrruufffrRRRMMFFRRRRPRRRT!_ **

Naturally, he vented all these concerns in a sopping wet fart, that spluttered out of him like the dregs of ketchup from a plastic bottle. The existing humidity from the showers joined hands to escalate the blonde's vapors toward an unbearable potency. The giants needed no further prompting to start collecting their things. Even for dudes with sweat glands in the trillions, Curtis' brand of musk was simply too much.

One member of the team unintentionally shoved the weakling out of his way, where he was knocked into another hulkish figure's side.

"Aww, Chunk! Gross! Now you've got Fergle germs all over you!"

Elvor cackled as the ogre made a face and wiped Curtis' 'germs' onto his white-haired companion. The two of them bickered about who was now more infected with that absolutely one hundred percent real bacterial disease, while Curtis gulped and wondered if it was too late to join the giants in their evacuation.

**_BANG!_ **

A locker slammed shut and captured their attention. Herk, dressed only in a cotton towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist (in Curtis' mind, that was perhaps the scariest sight of all), raised an untidied brow at the intruder. He sniffed the tainted air and pulled a face.

"What're _you_ doin' here?"

Curtis' mouth hung open dumbly. "I... I...."

"Must be lost," Elvor interjected. "cause I know he sure as hell ain't in here to shower. _'Personal hygiene'_ isn't in his vocab, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, he - uh - he doesn't know what a shower is! Hahahaha!"

"Oh my god, that's what I _just_ said, Chunk. We've been over this."

Herk took a step toward Curtis, smirking that shit-eating smirk of his. His head cocked to the side.

"Well, fart boy?"

"I… uh…"

Curtis stuttered some more, blushed so heavily that even the tip of his ears turned pink, and ran to the other side of the room.

Yeah. So much for a hero.

When he had streaked down the hallway with fire (and several pounds of pizza and curry and burritos and sprouts) in his belly, Curtis hadn't been thinking about how he would be all alone in there. He guessed Dante was sort of with him in spirit, but he would've preferred another actual _body_ on his side. Especially one that had a bit more bulk and girth than he did. He was no professional betting person, but three against one didn't sound like good odds to him.

 _There was no way I'll make it back upstairs in time_.

The thought filled him with dread. Unlike him, Dante had planned out his plot to the very last precious minute. If Curtis messed this up, there would be no second chance. He'd ruin it. He'd ruin _everything._

And worse of all, he'd disappoint his only friend.

**BBRRRUUFFFVVVVVVVRRRrRrRRrrrffrrrmmphhhfffffrrrRRRRRRRRTPPRRMPT!**

Another noisy, nervous fart made its way out of Curtis, and he cringed at himself as the trio split their sides at his accident. Because the curse got its kicks out of humiliating him at every possible opportunity, he wasn't even allowed a second to recover before he passed gas again, even louder and longer and smellier than the time before.

Elvor found a discarded can of deodorant on the floor and started to douse the blonde in it. Curtis tried to dodge it, only to get cornered and drenched head-to-toe. He flinched when the nozzle got too close to his face and spritzed him right in the eyes.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" 

" _Do_ you? I didn't think you had ever used this stuff before!" Elvor snickered. He pushed down harder on the nozzle. Curtis covered his face with his arms and squirmed helplessly.

"What? Don't you like it, fart boy? I'm just trying to help you out!"

_Rrrruuuggguurrggggle..._

"Oh no," Curtis whined. His stomach muscles flexed and his bowels flared and he freaked out about what was going to occur, which only sped up the process. He tried with all his might but his control was steadily slipping away.

**FFFFFFFFFFBBbBbBHHbBHhrRrRrUUuUffFFFFFFFFFFFFVVVVVVRRRRRRmmfffrroommmffrrrpRRRRRBTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMFFRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrRrRRrvvVvVUUuRrRRrrRRRRRRRPT!**

The monstrous display of unmanageable flatulence tripled the amount of laughter, and deepened the stench, which was the only reason Elvor allowed him to escape his grip.

"Way to go, Farty Fergle!" Herk bellowed after him. "Doing what you do best!"

Curtis blocked out the uproarious laughter and blinked the watery buildup from his eyes. He had to get out of here. He'd only demean himself even further, and the sooner he confessed to Dante that he had screwed everything up, the better.

There would be no easy way of telling him. It had been a long time since Curtis had someone he could call a confidant and he had forgotten about all the hardships that came with having someone in your life who relied on you.

 _How could you ever think that you could be a hero?_ He scoffed spitefully, now unable to blink the tears away and having to use his hoodie sleeve instead. _You can't even be a good friend._

"You know, I dunno who has it worse," Elvor chuckled, returning to his position of being permanently glued to Herk's side. "Farticus or that... _thing._ What'd you think, Chunk?"

They glanced at Chunk. Chunk shuddered and mimed projectile vomiting. Evidently, both options were unpalatable.

"I feel bad for the guy," Herk said as he applied the leftover deodorant to his hairy pits. "I mean, he's already got to deal with his own pathetic existence, but having a tranny as your only friend? Yikes!"

" **What** did you call him?"

The trio stopped cackling. They thought one of the Deans had entered the room while they had been messing around with the Cheese Cutter, until they realized the rigid voice had come from Fergle himself. He had stopped by the door, his hand hovering above the handle.

Elvor raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, although there was a pinch of genuine shock in there. Herk grinned charmlessly.

"He lied to you too, huh? Newsflash, shit-stain, your pal ain't a he," he barked. "It's an it. A phony. A _fake._ "

Curtis turned toward the trio.

" _What_ did you call him?" He asked again, tone cold and his gaze even frostier.

"Hey, uh, Herk," Chunk nudged the gnome. He didn't know what was about to happen – Chunk was not renowned for his foresight – but he could sense that their leader was about to walk into something dangerous. "I wouldn't-"

Ignoring him, Herk approached Curtis confidently.

"A _tranny_ , numbnuts. I said your pal's a tranny. Or do you not know what that means?"

Curtis' hands balled into fists. His muscles were contracting, giving him the appearance of shivering. But he wasn't afraid or embarrassed anymore. Not even a little bit.

"Say it again," he growled, nostrils flaring.

"Wow, are you actually this dense?"

This time, Elvor tried to plead with their superior. "Herk, I don't think he's-"

"Clearly he ain't getting it," Herk guffawed and shook his head at his cohorts. "I suppose he's gotta learn at some point. Here, lemme spell it out for you, fart boy."

Curtis' hackles raised.

"T..."

He ground his teeth.

"R…"

His heart pounded in his little chest. It was beating to the drums of war.

"A… huh?!"

**"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"**

The final letter was drowned out by Curtis' war cry. Herk screamed in terror as the boy charged across the room and launched himself at him, uncaring for showmanship or grace in his agility, only wanting to make sure Herk felt every last muscle in his body smash into his own.

The two males were sent careening to the floor. The melee was on.

Curtis took a swipe at Herk, but the gnome parried it and reciprocated on the human with a hefty punch to the mouth. His glasses were thrown into the corner of the room but Curtis didn't let it impair him. Reflexively, he stuck out his knee, catching Herk right in the groin, making the hybrid cry out and freeze up. Curtis then clumsily crashed his fist into his jaw.

Elvor was unable to keep up with who was winning; or if there was even a victor at all, for they both appeared to be as bad at combat as the other (though he'd never say it to Herk's face.)

With both males dazed and confused, and the floor slippery with small pools of each other's blood, Curtis managed to knock Herk onto his back and scrambled on top of him.

"Take it back!" He demanded, some spittle flying from his mouth in his rage.

Herk panted, recovering from the sudden role reversal. "Take – take _what_ back?" He asked, smirking still, though shock had rendered his voice frail and childlike.

"Take back everything you said about Dante! And don't _ever_ call him that again!"

"Aww, why? Are your feelings hurt, fart boy? You can't handle it?"

"Take it back!"

"No way! Everybody has the right to an opinion. That's the beauty of our free country. I can say whatever I want," Herk baited. "It ain't my fault you're deluded. Come on, you seriously think the tranny actually _likes_ you? Even it doesn't have standards that low."

Curtis snarled and tightened his weakening grip around the gnome's thick neck.

" _His_ name is Dante," he persisted. 

"This is precious. Really, it is. But I'm getting bored. Elvor, help me up."

But it wasn't Elvor who assisted him. Curtis lifted part of his weight from Herk's torso, and Herk sensed his chance and desperately tried to find his feet. He almost got there – until Curtis threw himself back down again.

This time with his backside perched on Herk's chest. It was the last part of the blonde you wanted your face pushed up against.

"OH MY GOD GET HIM OFF OF ME!" Herk screamed. He couldn't care less about the pain in his swollen mandible, not when his nostrils were getting VIP access to the boggy scent wafting off Farty Fergle's caboose. "Guys, get this freak off me! Now! PLEASE!"

Curtis used his hoodie sleeve to wipe away the thin stream of blood trickling into his mouth. He smiled as he looked over at the other two, who were frozen in position, but also laughing hysterically.

"Oh, oh!" Elvor was so amused he could barely speak. "What does it smell like, man?"

"What do you _think_ it smells like, Elvor?!"

Curtis glanced over his shoulder at the ill-fated gnome. "Are you going to take it back now?" he asked evenly.

Even though Curtis had the physical advantage, Herk knew he could still win this. Verbal harassment was his specialty.

"Never," he snapped back, hoping Curtis didn't see that he was casting an urgent look at his fellow jerks from the corner of his eye. "You really think I'm scared of you, reject? You're just a-"

"Are you going to take it back _now?_ " Curtis asked once more, wiggling his bottom, which caused some of the shit-scented stink lingering between his cheeks to displace the air and tickle Herk's sensitive nostrils.

Herk choked. He was smelling sulfur and spice and everything not nice. But he couldn't lose. He _wouldn't_ lose. His nostril hairs would grow back, but his pride and reputation would never recover. Not even on his deathbed, which this might soon become, would he lose to the lamest nerd in the entire academy.

"No! No matter what you do, freak, nothing - _nothing!_ \- is gonna make me eat my words!"

"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

There was a pause. A long, eventless, anti-climactic pause. Herk's brows knotted together as he looked to his friends for guidance, who both shrugged in confusion, then he glanced at the back of Curtis, wondering when the punishment was coming.

Would he restart the brawl and commence round two? Would he call for backup? Was he armed? Herk didn't consider Curtis to be anything but a useless geek before, but after seeing this change in character, anything was possible...

Curtis relaxed his tensed sphincter muscles. The curse was puzzled at first and had a delayed reaction. It wasn't normally _allowed_ to wreak havoc when other people were around.

But once it settled into this change of pace, Curtis felt some of the pressure from his bloat breaking off, and an oily bomb detonated in the seat of his pants.

"OH HOLY MOTHER OF-"

All three members of the gang recoiled as the room was submerged in the demented deluge of Curtis' silent-but-deadly. The marshy gas swaddled the air in an overripe blanket of mephitis. Curtis felt Herk buck and writhe underneath him, desperate to unpin his arms from his sides to protect his wounded nose, but he had them secured. His pudgy stomach had added on a few precious pounds to his existing weight that was aiding him in his restraint of the stocky gnome.

"Ahh~" He sighed sweetly. He had _really_ needed that.

Herk gasped for clean air, but all he did was take in more of the repugnant pong. It was everywhere. It was inescapable... and the most horrifying thing was that it was _intentional._

What had happened to the shy, unconfident runt they used to pummel up and down the halls? What happened to the scrub who looked like he was ready to cry every time he cleared out a classroom? Since when did Curtis embrace his disgusting condition as if it was some kind of... some kind of _talent?!_

Since when was Curtis as twisted as they were?

"I'm gonna die! I'm actually gonna die!" Elvor shrieked, grinding his knuckles into his red eyes, which only irritated them even more. "It burns! It buuurns!"

"Aww, my mouth was open," Chunk complained simply. He plugged his big nose with two sausage-like digits. 

" _Your_ mouth?!" Herk hollered in fury, then went back to hacking up his lungs.

Curtis reached into his pocket. Dante had thought of most things required to antagonize his bowels, but he hadn't thought of everything. Though he might have forgotten about the beans, Curtis had remembered another vital missing ingredient; the icing on top of this dumpster fire of a cake.

Herk watched the blonde uncork a delicate glass vial. Curtis whispered an apology to his digestive system and downed every last drop of the remaining elixir. All the air he took in came straight back out in a ferocious burp, uncharacteristic for a boy of his size and shape, which had Elvor and Chunk swapping fearful looks.

A low-pitched grumble rang around the room. Gas swarmed inside of Curtis, visibly expanding his ballooning abdomen even further out than it already was. They could all hear the deadly borborygmus starting to stir in his guts. Curtis could feel the elixir churning up the contents of his bowels; a colonic cauldron crammed with all that meat and cheese and high-fiber veggies and way, _way_ too much protein. His intestines began to bubble and boil as the medicine terrorized his tummy.

Curtis bit back a cry of pain. His stomach felt as though it was being squeezed by two huge forceps. With a sharp rip, his shorts abruptly buckled under the strain, the zip splitting and pooling his potbelly into his lap, which furthered the pressure on top of Herk.

"Don't just s-stand there!" Herk berated his fellow buffoons. He had the best seat in the house for hearing the curse working its devious magic. 

There was no two ways about it, Curtis was suffering. But the tears in his eyes and the whine creeping up his throat and the arms cradling his inflating middle were instinctive reactions from years of having to deal with this enchantment. He was hurting, but he was also excited. Deliriously excited. Birthdays and Christmas mornings couldn't come close to how excited he felt in that moment.

Finally, he understood why Meredith had looked so proud on the night of his cursing! Finally, someone was sticking up for the downtrodden! For the tyrannized! For the abused!

_For Dante!_

A shiver rocked Curtis' spine as the contents of his overcrowded stomach aligned within him and made the journey southward. It wouldn't be pretty. It wouldn't be easy. It would almost certainly burn the skin off the inner lining of his butthole. But he'd take it all. Whatever happened, Curtis was going to enjoy every last minute of this.

He leered over his shoulder at the gnome.

"If you're not gonna eat your words…"

_GGGGGGGGRRRRRRRGGGbbbrrrgggooorrrggggle!_

He carefully rubbed his hand over the front of his stomach, luring it into action. The cramps amassed and his tummy gurgled menacingly as Curtis' secret weapon stampeded toward his rectum.

Curtis smirked his own shit-eating smirk.

"Then you can eat _this._ "


	11. Curtis the Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And I can't fight this feeling anymore_   
>  _I've forgotten what I started fighting for"_
> 
> \- Curtis' butthole, currently

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter contains:_
> 
> \- Vomit, vomit and more vomit!  
> 

Curtis had been liberated.

Spiritually, that was the truth. He had the freedom of a bird and the lightness of its feathers. Everything that was wrong within him had been righted, and he owed it all to Herk.

For giving him the incentive to dry his eyes and gather his courage.

For awakening his inner warrior.

For reminding him what his destiny was (a destiny that had only been selected as a destiny ten minutes prior did not make it any less of a destiny. Hey, is the word destiny starting to look weird?)

And, finally, for being the most _delightful_ little cushion to rip a record-breaking fart on.

The vast expanse of feculent flatulence biding in his belly was constricted to fit its gaseous girth through the nearest avenue of escape. But this act of compaction did little to tone down the volume of his advancing attack. With a grunt no more vigorous than that of which someone might let out while reaching for a box of cereal on a tall shelf, Curtis loosed his gurgling insides all over Herk's face with an astronomical typhoon of curried air.

The miasma of musky molten lava misted up the mirrors that hung on the walls of the changing room. His relentless winds slammed all of the opened lockers shut. It disseminated the debris on the floor, and it appeared to create a forcefield around himself and the half-gnome, for just when Chunk and Elvor sprouted their respective pairs of balls to try and rescue their kingpin, they were knocked back – and _out_ \- by the fertilizer fumes that bloomed from behind the cursed individual.

Their faces took most of the fall. The stunned pair were deposited onto the ground, limbs twitching and fitting intermittingly like electrocuted flies.

Herk scarcely had time to react to the first devastating blow before Curtis fired another one off.

**BBBBbbBBbbVVVURRPPPLLLTTTBBBHHHBBRRRUUFFFLLLUUUUUUUUUURT!**

A piping hot protein fart propelled from his rear with a sloppy crackle. Herk felt something bitter and acidic slither up his gullet as he saw speckles of sweat (...dear Gods, he _hoped_ it was sweat...) appear on the seat of the stench engine's shorts.

"Jeez Louise!"

Curtis employed his crudest use of language as he wiggled his perspiring posterior. Even someone with anosmia could tell how long that one was going to hang around for.

He couldn't know for sure, but based on the reactions of those in the room with him, and the way his own nose was curling up, Curtis imagined it smelled like a sewage sundae, with minced roadkill and wedges of elephant shit as the toppings and the juice found at the bottom of a garbage pail served on the side.

What consciousness Chunk and Elvor managed to regain was shortly spent gagging on the raw stench brought upon them by Curtis' second outburst. They could do little else; Herk's toadies were too weakened by the initial walloping to create much-needed distance between themselves and their assailant.

Heh, _ass_ ailant! Elvor was allocated exactly two seconds to enjoy that, then went straight back to perishing.

As for Herk's reaction?

Well, he coughed and croaked and proceeded to discover why your first reaction to having Farty Fergle rip one in your face should _never_ be to scream in terror. Where one blasted out, another would surely follow.

As Herk's mouth widened, Curtis' intestines bubbled up and a ravenous ripper was fed right into the gnome's throat.

Curtis had to hold on as his victim transformed into a rodeo bull. Herk's convulsive dry-heaving and jerky, seizure-like movements caused a twin set of superhuman blasts to slip out of the male splayed on top of him, graffitiing his green skin with even more homegrown napalm. It was like getting the world's most toxic facial from the world's most uncertified dermatologist.

Elvor and Chunk normally would've reveled in the opportunity to contribute some humorous and universally unwanted narration at this time. As horrific as this ordeal was, and even while torturing their friend for his misdeeds, farts were still funny.

But they were too busy dying in the corner nearest the door. That was the extent to which they had been able to crawl away after being assaulted… heh, _ass_ aul –

Oh, Elvor didn't have the strength anymore.

The ogre and elf clawed at the air to try and fend off the corrosive aroma leaking out from Curtis' arse. The smell had temporarily blinded Elvor, and there was a considerable amount of snot dripping down from the ogre's nostrils (which, in all truthfulness, wasn't an unusual state for Chunk to be in, but was still somewhat concerning.)

Curtis chuckled to himself as he admired the fruits of his labor and gave his stomach a thankful pat. Maybe it was a bit too strong of a pat, for just as he was getting acquainted with the pleasant emptiness that came with purging his system, an unbearable tightness spread its wings in his guts.

His inner contents rushed down his tract with a resounding growl and the blonde winced softly, teeth nibbling into his lip as he felt the pressure suddenly stacking up behind him.

"Uh oh..."

The rage was growing in his core. They had reached the point of no return. Curtis' tummy could no longer contain the sickening mixture he had ingested: it needed everything out, and it needed it out _now._

And what the curse wanted, it always got.

"Oh fuck no," Herk whimpered, in a voice that would've made a chain smoker's sound dainty. What his lungs had been commanded to huff in made a cigarette seem like the healthier option. He had calculated what was going to happen next - although it wasn't much of a challenge, considering it was all Curtis ever did anyway.

"Please, no! NO! NOOO!"

Herk didn't know this, but when it came to the curse, _'no', ''oh god, no', 'for once, can we maybe_ _ **not**_ _do this?'_ were all variations of the affirmation, _'yes! Go ahead and ruin my life right now!'._ And to the curse, Herk was doing an awful lot of yes-ing.

So out they came.

Farts of every nature broke forth from Curtis' bum. Farts that sputtered and squelched, farts that purred, parped and popped, brassy farts that sounded like vintage car engines (but decidedly nowhere near as stylish), long, gusty farts that nearly dried out Herk's pores with their baking heat, dirty, marshy, moist farts that left him feeling like he had just been out for an amble in the rain, airy farts, heady farts, squeaky farts, bubbly farts, farts of every color, farts of every shape, farts that this narrator is not skilled enough to describe.

And he farted effortlessly, unreservedly and – even though it was technically _never_ what Curtis wanted to happen – voluntarily.

He farted with passion. He farted as though his life depended on it.

He farted like... well, like he had been cursed to always do so.

"Ahhhh.." The blonde sighed orgasmically. The measure of relief he had gained from losing control of his bowels relaxed every muscle in his body. Yes, even that one.

He cracked off a nauseating silent stinker into Herk's snout. A breezy blaster chased after it, ruffling the gel-coated hair on Herk's head. And then followed the cherry on the cake - a five second tuneful belch.

"Well, _excuuuuuse_ me! Guess something I ate isn't going down so good," Curtis stated the obvious. "Wonder if it's the pizza with extra jalapenos. Or maybe all those burritos. There was a _lot_ of chilli in those! Any guesses, Herk? You'll know best."

For once in his life, Herk didn't offer his opinion. Curtis rotated to examine the current state of his prey. Whatever he was expecting to see, what he actually did see was ten times worse - and ten times more satisfying.

Herk was not coping with being at the mercy of Curtis' rectum on a day where it wasn't feeling especially merciful. The gnome's eyes were disturbingly bloodshot, from the tip of his tongue dangled a thin line of drool, and his mouth opened and closed repetitively like a brain-damaged fish.

Curtis threw back his head and laughed. If only Dante were here to see this!

"This is so- _OUCH!_ "

Curtis didn't get to gloat. A million Charley Horses couldn't compete with the pain that swooped through his little body. It was like a dull-ended blade was twisting into his gut; a smarting so intense that it bunched up his shoulders and made the veins on his head throb.

"Fudge! Fudge! FudgeyFudgeMcFudgerson!"

Curtis couldn't stop the barrage of profanities from hurtling out. This torture was too much. He strained and squeezed, but no matter how hard he tried to force an emission, the cramping wouldn't subside.

Whenever the curse hit him with a tummyache of this degree he'd let the gas go straight away, regardless of the social consequences. Sometimes comfort had to come before self-respect (or any respect he had for other people's nostrils.)

But this pain had an agenda. This pain meant _business._

_Ggggggguuuurrrggggglleeee...._

It started lowly, distantly. Gradually it came closer, until those in the room were aware that it was in there with them.

Herk stopped his flailing and thrashing. Elvor and Chunk stopped their sniveling in the corner. They each threw fearful looks in Curtis' direction.

"What?" Curtis asked them, wondering why they were…

Then he heard it too.

It was unmistakable. Heaven's drumset was in full swing, and the steady, pounding notes of thunder were coming from somewhere above their heads. It wasn't euphonic enough to be the music department. It didn't sound like the aggrandized antics of the drama students' rehearsals either.

 _That's funny,_ Curtis thought to himself. _I didn't know we were due to get a storm…_

Wait.

The 'ping' of the lightbulb illuminating in his head was audible in the room as the ditzy blonde connected the dots. This thunder wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from _him._

The chords being composed by his stomach were deeper and more domineering than any gurgle or grumble or whine Curtis had ever heard it make before. It sounded so huge, so _formidable_. It sounded much too mighty to be coming from someone like Curtis Fergle.

His tongue ran nervously over his lips. There was something else about this tummy turbulence that he feared. Something uncomfortable on the outside as well as in.

His _skin._

It was his skin! That's what they were all looking at! Curtis looked down and saw that beneath his hoodie, his flesh was actually rippling. With every gastric announcement, his belly wobbled like a plate of Jell-O in a room full of jackhammers. With all this movement, his stomach looked... alive.

Well, of course, it _was_ alive. He was alive, so his body was too. It was working like it should. Food was being processed through his system and coming out the other end. No one knew that better than Herk, currently, who was smelling (and tasting) most of what had been on Dante's menu.

But it felt... alive-alive. Like Frankenstein-alive. Like a monster that had been disturbed from its long-term slumber, smack dab in the middle of a wonderful dream.

And Curtis had woken it up.

Shaky fingers hooked underneath the end of his hoodie. It was _his_ body, a cavity he had lived with for nineteen years, and he had no reason to be afraid of it. He had to see what was going on for himself.

Or did he? Did he really want to investigate this even further?

_RRRRRBBBUUURRRGGGLLLEEE!!!_

He flinched as a spine-chilling thunderclap bellowed from his gut. It was almost like his stomach was daring him to. Maybe even _beckoning_ him to.

Curtis clenched his teeth. He had to approach this like one approached a band-aid. Don't dance around it. Just get it over with. He yanked up his shirt, and every pair of eyes in the room still capable of clear vision widened at what he unearthed.

Curtis' bloated stomach was luminous. Not a constant light, but viridescent projections that appeared on his skin every time his stomach sent out one of its resonating warnings. These flashes were the lightning strikes that paired with his thunder. And Curtis had seen them before.

They were sparks.

They were the same sparks that came out of Meredith's wand the night she had cursed him.

Curtis was looking into the _eye_ of his curse.

"Agh!"

In what he suspected was the enchantment's way of saying _hello! long time no see!_ , the cramps resurfaced, savagely bubbling as they created more and more pockets of gas inside his colon. They were the sort of cramps that, if felt by non-cursed folk, usually meant that an urgent trip to the toilet was in store.

But not for Curtis. It would be farts, because with Curtis it was _always_ farts. But whatever was created by this instance of digestion would be like nothing Curtis had ripped before. For reasons unknown to him, for the first time since he had been afflicted with it, the curse had gained a new set of capabilities.

_But why? Is this all because I ate some spicy food and got a little mad?_

Or was there something else going on between him and the magic?

Focus, Curtis.

He knew that the curse thought it was punishing him. In any other situation, that was exactly what it was doing. Its duty was to make his life as hard and as cumbersome as possible, and with an eight-year-run of success of tormenting Curtis, it kind of had this thing in the bag.

But it failed to realize that Curtis had _manufactured_ this situation. He was in control. He wanted what was going to happen to happen, and the curse had no idea.

...right? It had never occurred before, but nothing was too far-fetched now. Curtis couldn't rule it out as a possibility.

Suppose he didn't have an enemy. Suppose he had an alliance.

Suppose, for once, the curse was on his side.

Curtis laughed. The laughter ballooned until it burst, breaking off into a series of deranged giggles. Well, they'd probably sound deranged if he wasn't peppering it with his usual nerdy snorts.

He cried, "Oh, Herk!"

The giggles grew louder. Prouder. Harsher. Herk shivered in fear.

"Herky, Herky, Herk! You're in trouble now!"

The gnome shrieked as Curtis pulled down his shorts, exposing bare freckled flesh and a more revealing outline of his buttocks. No longer concealed by cloth, the stink was much more potent than before.

Herk didn't know how that could be possible. But he knew that from now on, he would be getting it straight from the source.

Curtis closed his eyes. He hadn't talked to the magic since he was a kid, in those early days where he had begged and pleaded with it to cut him enough slack. Not _complete_ slack - the boy cursed with uncontrollable farting had to be realistic here - but enough slack so he could feel like all the other kids for a while, and do all the things the other kids got to do. Enough slack to go out and meet someone, anyone, who might tolerate him enough to want to stick around for more than a few non-stinky minutes.

It had never worked, but Curtis hadn't stopped trying. He had talked to it every night. He had bargained with it until he ran out of words to say. He had even given it a name: _Judy._ (This was after he realized "Cursy the Curse" was perhaps a smidgen too simple.)

But that was then, and this was now. Now Curtis was no longer lonesome and longing for a someone. He had a someone; the best someone in the whole wide world as far as he was concerned.

Things had changed.

 _He_ had changed.

So maybe his relationship with his curse called for some changing, too.

No longer nervous of the frightful array of noises coming from his midriff, nor the otherworldly illumination, Curtis delicately massaged his fingertips into his sentient flesh. Easy, gently, with all the respect for his backside rather than the shame and guilt he had harbored for years.

He smiled to himself as he inwardly addressed his curse. His lasting scourge, his incorrigible blight... his _**superpower.**_

_Let's do this, Judes._

* * *

_GGGGGRRRRRRUUUUUUUURRRGGGRRRRLLLLLEE!_

"He's gonna blow!" Elvor cried as the gurgles reverbed around the room. Truer words had never been spoken.

Curtis blew like he had never blown before. An enormous fart jet-streamed from between his cheeks and pumped the room with an explosion of poisonous fumes. Not his usual green, or his occasional yellow. Not even a dark off-colored brown.

These fumes were black. An impenetrable, _unforgiving_ black.

He pushed his left hand into his stomach as the rich, thick, bone-rattling fart tore out of him, creating visible waves in the air. After twenty seconds, when it dawned on them that the attack of flatulence might not ever cease, Elvor and Chunk seized their last opportunity to try and unlock the door. They knew they wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer.

Elvor didn't make it. The toxic wave plowed into him before he had even taken two steps. The last one standing, Chunk blindly reached for the handle and awkwardly groped at it, and when that didn't work he pounded on the heavy surface of the sealed entrance, hoping someone out there would hear their cries. Surely they were hearing what was coming out of Fergle. Astronauts in orbit could probably hear what was coming out of Fergle.

The fart petered out, concluding on a silly, squeaking note. Curtis whistled and fanned the fouled air from his face. It hadn't felt very good coming out, which was a solid indicator that the smell was going to be mind-blowingly bad. Case in point - his eyes were already nipping. The stench wasn't quite horrid enough to reawaken his olfactory senses just to murder them again, but it was close.

Underneath him, Herk let out a strangled moan. Curtis looked downwind and chuckled with open joy, although a moment was spared to consider the likelihood of today being the last day he could ever wear this set of underwear, for, from the waist up, the gnome's body was caked in a sooty residue.

But he had to chuckle. He was leaving his mark in more ways than one.

"Have we had enough?"

Herk's eyelids twitched as he tried to see through the veil of tears. Curtis saw the beginning of a response form on his lips, but then something glazed over the gnome's pale eyes. Curtis knew that look. It was a look he was sure he expressed whenever he was about to detonate.

For whatever reason - maybe it was the scent, or maybe it was because it had left him looking like he had rolled around in a vat of coal - that fart had been the last straw for Herk. His Adam's apple fidgeted then broke out into a funny dance. His cheeks puffed up and he plastered his hand over his gob as he scrambled upright, his chops continuing to grow rounder and fuller by the second.

"Herk!" Elvor coughed out. He could just about make out the shape of his friend coming toward him through the fog. Had Fergle finally thrown in the towel? It was about time!

He took his shirt away from his mouth, his only protection, so he could project better. "Dude, are you- _WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!_ "

Curtis couldn't see what was going on, but he could surmise from the exclamation that Herk had just 'projected' all over the elf.

_"EUGH!"_

In the outrage that followed, Elvor inspired more than his fair share of Curtis' toxins. It was one hit too many. His face turned whiter and he looked at Chunk and tossed up his own batch of cookies all over the ogre. It didn't take a genius to predict what Chunk did next.

Curtis lazily stretched his legs near the showers and supervised the spilling of multiple guts. He was faintly disgusted by the display he was witness to.

**POORRRRPPPURRT!**

...that quickly reminded him that he was in no real position to be _actually_ disgusted. But he _was_ in a position he had never been in before, a position of power, and he was finding it fitted him more comfortably than he expected.

He clambered up onto a bench. An abandoned jockstrap was kicked out of his way as he rested his hands on his hips.

"Well, well, well..."

Curtis had the full attention of the vomit-soaked trio. They knew their place in the hierarchy of the changing room, though it didn't feel right to see the twerp towering over somebody else.

"How the turn tables!"

It was difficult to choose what to pay attention to. Fergle completely butchering that well-known phrase or the fact his shorts, having lost their zipper, had come loose, and were now heaped around his ankles.

 _Seriously?_ Herk was feverish, dehydrated, swaying unsteadily on the spot and rapidly nearing total unconsciousness, but was still capable of some internal dialogue. _He's wearing boxers with cartoon ducks on them and I'm too busy getting my comeuppance to make fun of him. This is a dark day for bully-kind._

But he didn't know how dark it could get. None of them did.

"How's round one treating you, fellas?" asked Curtis. "Any suggestions as we move forward? I'm open to constructive feedback!"

"There's _more?!_ " Elvor gawked. Herk's throat was too rough and his stomach was threatening to participate in a round two of its own, prohibiting his ability to muster up a vitriolic complaint or insult.

So he just sobbed like an infant instead.

"Wh-what are you gonna do to us?!" Chunk stuttered out, asking the question no one wanted to know the answer to. His hand was still trying to work the uncooperative door handle. Why wouldn't the stupid thing open?!

_GGGUuUuUuUUuuuRRRRGGGGGUuUUUURG!_

Chunk's hand froze mid-turn as Curtis' vengeful intestines sung their awful melody. His mouth gaped in fear. The wiry hairs on the back of Herk's neck stood erect, and he subtly tried to find the hand of someone to hold (this was immediately declined by Elvor.)

"It's just like Herk said," Curtis smiled slyly. "I'm gonna do what I do best."

* * *

"Curtis?! Curtis? Curtis, are you in- OH! Shit! Sorry! No, definitely _not_ Curtis!"

Dante raced back out of the third men's bathroom he had searched, although going by the high heel that was just hurled at his skull, that last one might not necessarily have been the men's.

He had more urgent business to attend to than worrying about being reported for the scandalous crimes of a Peeping Tom, however. He had a sidekick to track down. He stormed the hallway unfazed, scrutinizing the irritatingly slow and tired crowd to identify a familiar, foul-scented, fun-sized shape.

"Curtis? CURTIS?"

"Hey! Watch where you're going, Diapers!" A dwarf berated as Dante almost tripped over him.

"Ey, cut him some slack, Moe," said his imp companion. "Looks like he's actually trying to make it to a bathroom this time."

At the end of the same hallway, parked outside the entrance to a changing room that would need some _serious_ TLC, a goblin's ear was pressed up nosily against the door.

Like any sane person, the sounds of his fellow sophomore's violent indigestion had, at first, repulsed Cory. But once he heard the heaving and retching and tearful cries of his bullies (his _ex_ -bullies, he gleefully corrected himself), he couldn't possibly miss out on a single second of Curtis' revenge.

His snooping was not without its hazards. The various eye-watering smells being released inside the room were starting to seep out underneath the door, so Cory had attached a facemask to himself, one that Dante had given him in the off chance he ended up having to sacrifice himself to the fart filled dungeon by physically preventing the trio from getting out. He hadn't been looking forward to _that_ possibility - although, after hearing the wails of his tormentors, they didn't seem so big and intimidating anymore. If Curtis could do it, maybe _he_ could, too.

But now he stood upright and alert, as any good sentry should, listening to the concerned hollering of the brunette running amuck through the corridor.

"Dante...?"

"Cory! Oh, Cory, thank God!" Dante changed direction, struggled to slow down in time and ended up barrelling into the wall. "Have you-! Oh my god... _ohhhh_ I'm seeing stars…"

"Take your time. Deep breaths."

"My body wasn't built for this much activity." Dante bent over with his hands on his knees, panted furiously until his lungs were working normally again and renewed his campaign so abruptly that Cory yelled and jumped in the air.

"Have you seen or smelled the Ferg?! He ran off and now I can't find him anywhere!"

"It's kinda hard _not_ to smell him, you know," Cory scoffed. "But boy, have I. You fuelled him up _good!_ Those bozos are _so_ in for it! I can't wait to see the look on their faces!"

The goblin cackled, clapping his hands together in merriment.

"Yeah, it's gonna be beautiful, but _where is he?_ " Dante pressed. Didn't Cory realize that without Curtis, the whole operation would fall apart? "I haven't seen him for the last twenty minutes. Curtis' don't just vanish into thin air, you know!"

"I have to hand it to him," much to Dante's annoyance, Cory continued sharing his feelings of hope for a plan that, at this rate, would never come to fruition. "I'll give credit where it's due. I didn't think ol' Fergle had it in him."

**_BBBRMMMFFffFFFFFuuUUPPPPHHhHRRrrrruuummMRRRPPPRRRT!_ **

"Well, I knew he had _that_ in him..."

An icy barb struck Dante's chest.

"Wait - Curtis is _in_ there?"

"Uh, yes?"

"With _THEM?!_ "

"Duh! Who else can rip butt like that?"

"Oh my god! Oh my _god_ , I gotta - I have to help him!"

"I suppose I can't give him all the credit, can I?" Cory was _still_ dismissing Dante's now very obvious alarm as the brunette scrambled back and forth. "At first, I was _firmly_ against changing the plan up so late in the game. He almost had to throw me aside to get in, you know. But I see the genius in it now. You've outdone yourself, really, I - _AHHH!_ "

Before he could hear the rest of his compliment, Dante threw Cory aside to get in.

"Wait, wait a minute!" The goblin scurried back to block any access to the door. "You don't wanna go in there! Seriously, Dante, you do not wanna go in- _AHHHHHH!_ "

Unlike Curtis, who struggled to make his bed without taking a break to towel the sweat off himself, Dante had the muscle to toss Cory almost all the way to the end of the hallway. When it came to his little buddy's safety, there was no mountain too great (and let's face it, Cory was far from being mountainous.)

But Cory _was_ unflappable... although he was a little more bruised now.

"Dante, stop it! You don't want to go in with them!"

"Don't you get it? I didn't change anything! This was _never_ supposed to happen!"

"But they'll-"

"I don't give a shit what they do to me. I know I was scared before, but that was different. They were hurting _me_ ," the brunette's voice steeled. "I'm not letting _anyone_ hurt Curtis."

The goblin weaseled his way back to guarding the door, snapping it shut again just in time. The steam volleyed out of Dante's ears. Funny, for the first time since they had met, Cory acknowledged how big and strong Dante was...

"Cory, I _swear_ I'll-"

"Dante, I know. I know what it looks like." The goblin held his hands out, palms open, in an attempt to douse Dante's roaring flame. "But trust me, you don't have to worry about a thing. He's not gonna get hurt."

"Are you soft in the head? How can you say that? He's alone in there with those asshats! You know _exactly_ what they're like! And he's, he's-"

Dante whimpered. His brain had turned to mush under the stress of knowing that Curtis was trapped in there with no defenses.

"He's so _little!_ What could possibly make you think that this is going to end well?"

**_THHHHHRRRUUMMMFFFRRRRRPPPPPTTTTRRRRT!_ **

Although Dante looked ready to blow his top - and the door sounded as though it was ready to blow off its hinges - the goblin's lips formed an easy-going, insouciant grin.

"Because Curtis isn't the one you should be worried about," he said.

Dante pulled a face. "What?"

Cory stepped aside and motioned toward the door, offering the other the prime space he had been using moments before.

"Listen and learn, my friend!"

* * *

**FFFFFFFFFFFFBBBBUUUUFFRRRRRRRRRRPT!**

A tremendously bold blast busted out from the blonde's backside. The curse just kept 'em comin, and Curtis couldn't give even _half_ a heck.

**VVVVBBBUUUFFFLLUUURRRFFFMMFFRRRRPPPRRRT!**

He had entered this room a shameful farting boy, and would leave it... an enlightened farting _man._

**PPPPPFFFRRRMFFFRRRRP!**

... _well_... he certainly had knowledge now that he didn't have before, and he had gained wisdom and confidence that he didn't know was possible. That had to count for something. And all it took was encouraging his problem rather than resisting it. Who'da thunk it?

**BBBRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUFRRRRMMFFRRRRP!**

If only he _had_ thunk'd it. If only he could go back in time, and sit lonely kiddy Curtis on his knee...

 _You see, little guy,_ he would tell himself. _There is no winning over the magic. There is no managing it, there is no conquering it, there is no beating it into submission with a big stick or overdosing on those funny-tasting elixirs._

But there was one thing Curtis could do.

He could learn to work _alongside_ it.

"Oh, make it stop!"

"How is he _still_ going?!"

The defeated warbles of his victims brought him back to the illustrious present. Curtis smirked at his bewailing targets.

"So how does my revenge taste? I'm getting hints of justice, righteousness-"

He paused and hiked up a leg.

**FFFUUUUURRRLLLBBBRRRRRRRRRPT!**

"Oooo, and that's _definitely_ glory!"

"I'm getting hints of shit and more shit," Elvor spat through helpless sniffles.

"I can taste paprika a little," Chunk said, not hating it quite as much as the others.

Elvor shot a disgusted, disapproving look at Chunk, then recycled the same look for the gloating gas-machine. Anger channeled through him and rekindled his inner antagonizer and before he could consider the consequences, he was storming over to the bench, going forward rather than backing away like his cowering comrades.

"Alright, you know what? You've made your point! You win this time! You hear me? _You win!_ What else do you want us to do? We can't possibly say 'uncle' more than we already have!"

"Uncle," Herk tried weakly. He had admitted defeat on the floor beside the door next to the equally defeated Chunk. The vomit had formed a chunky crust on his hairy chest. He threw a hand over his mouth as another wet burp fell out.

_"Silence!"_

Curtis roared. In his head. In reality, his voice had definitely broken and he had let out a trebling fart while he yelled it.

"I'm not here for a _win,_ Elvor. And although my tummy is thanking me for the rare opportunity I've presented it with, I'm not doing this for _me,_ either."

He jumped off the bench, landing right in front of Herk's gangly lackey. Elvor stared down at him, his face pinched. Curtis stared back, giving him his best stink-eye... and stink-butt.

His stomach rumbled threateningly. It was Curtis' equivalent to having his very own Artimus appear, scowling and cracking his knuckles. With a quivering lip, Elvor lost his nerve and skittered away.

"I'm doing this for all those poor people that you three have made miserable over the years," Curtis barked as he stalked forward. "You've made them feel like second class citizens, but no more!"

**_BBBBUUURRRRP! FFFRRRUUUURRRP! BBBBBLLLUFFFFRRRRRRT!_ **

The moldering musk from three beefy farts spread out in front of him and clouded the trio. They howled in distress.

"You wanna know who I'm doing this for? Well, I'll tell ya! I'm doing this for the little guys!"

**VVVVVVVVRRRRRRRRRRRRT!**

His Herculean fart shattered the mirrors and the lenses of his glasses that were hiding underneath a bench (and sadly, no, this was not the first time Curtis had blown out his own glasses, although it was the first time on purpose.)

"And the big guys!"

**_TTTTHHHHhbbbbrrrmmffrrBBBRRRRRRRRRRP!_ **

This one sent a raft tearing up each of the four walls and uprooted the tiles from the shower floors. The three tormentors screamed as part of the roof caved in on them. Now they had dust and asbestos to choke on as well as Curtis' brand.

"And all the guys and all the girls and - and everybody in between!"

**_BBBUUUUUUFFFFUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!_ **

Curtis whined with satisfaction as a particularly big fart blustered out. It flowed from his depths like liquid gold, and smelled like liquid manure. Gosh, he hadn't realized just how good it felt to let them rip sometimes!

"And as for you..."

Having now arrived at his final destination, he squatted and put his face close to Herk's.

"Well, we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, would we?" he smiled toothily. "I want you to remember this the next time you even _think_ about saying that word again. You know, this doesn't _have_ to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I've got enough gas in me for _fifteen_ lifetimes!"

He groaned and farted voluminously.

"No one's doubting that," Elvor whispered, trembling like a leaf.

"So here's a little message from Dante," Curtis winked, and slowly started to turn around.

Chunk and Elvor dived out of the way as Curtis' ass came into full-moon-view. Herk started to lift his hands to cover his face, but Curtis squashed his plushy buttocks right up against his head, trapping him in a sphere of stench. The gnome's muffled screams and frantic wriggling were ticklish and made Curtis wriggle too, which led to an obvious conclusion.

The earthquake lasted for ten seconds. Hardly the longest fart to have left him, but in that time, the lockers were thrown open and ejaculated their contents, the mirrors broke free from the walls (it had to be worth at least forty years of bad luck), the lightbulbs on the ceiling blew out and plunged them into uneasy darkness, and each bully got a lungful of a fart that smelled shockingly of burning rubber and dog faeces.

And, by the time it was over, half of Herk's face was scalded. 

Curtis whistled in awe. "Wow! Dante's sure got a way with words, huh, guys?"

Audience participation was hard to achieve when you could no longer feel your vocal cords. Even more so when you weren't sure whether you _had_ vocal cords anymore, or even a mouth, or even a face.

"Don't you just love the smell of me in the..." Curtis looked down at his watch, but with no glasses and no light, it was hard for him to read anything. "...oh. Uh, let's say mid-morning to early afternoon."

That was all the one-liners Curtis could manage. Snapping out of his dictatorship with a yawn, he stepped away from Herk, scratched under his arm and casually regarded the wreckage he had wrought. It hadn't been too bad, really. Only eight smashed mirrors, four broken walls, a shower that needed re-flooring, a roof that needed replaced...

"I think my work here is done," he nodded. "How about we get that door open? It's getting kinda stuffy in here."

Curtis skipped over and pulled at the handle, but the door was firmly locked. Of course, he had a password to yell at Cory for it to open, but why did the fun have to end so soon?

The blonde retrieved his shorts from the floor and dipped a hand inside the front pocket. There was the little plastic rectangle, a permanent fixture in his garments.

Curtis was not a smoker. He never would be. But in a desperate last bid to cure himself of being so unavoidably friend-starved, he figured that he could make a positive name for himself at the smoking corners on campus. He had it on good authority that they would welcome _anyone_ who could provide them with a free lighter.

It had taken one trip for him to realize why he and fire didn't mix. Now the trio were about to learn the same lesson.

He chuckled grimly, holding the lighter in front of his face like he was ready to retell a scary story from his childhood. It was time for his big finish.

"What're you d-doing?" Elvor squeaked out.

"Opening the door," Curtis answered with a simple smile.

"But..."

"Oh **_no,_** " Chunk said, being the first to realize what was happening (no, _really_.) It was so shocking that he attracted everyone's attention, and they too caught on. " _Ohhh_ no no no..."

Elvor gasped. "You wouldn't! _You wouldn't!_ "

"Gosh, I've always wanted to try this!" Curtis squealed. He couldn't pretend to be mysterious or cool anymore. He was bouncing with excitement as he spread his legs slightly and placed the lighter at the point where his buttocks separated.

"He would," Chunk answered hollowly. The ogre and elf hugged each other for support as Curtis flicked the lighter down and pushed a meaty one out.

There wasn't a student on campus who wasn't awakened from their mid-study nap that day. Many actually developed tinnitus from the resounding explosion, with some cases lasting for two weeks. The college had to evacuate, as did the houses that surrounded it, and The Environmental Protection Agency was called in to evaluate the potential contribution to the already rising greenhouse gas levels. This might just be the final nudge to tip the ever changing climate over the edge.

It was featured on the local news no less than ten minutes later. Celia had been in the midst of some afternoon tea (enhanced with just a _few_ droplets of gin) when it interrupted her afternoon soap operas.

"Although the academy say they have no reason to treat the incident as suspicious, who would have access to so much methane? And for what reason?" The baffled reporter asked the fourth wall.

Celia had an inkling who would.

"And with damages believed to be costing upwards of five thousand dollars - and that's just a rough estimation - who will be asked to pay?"

Celia had an inkling who would be charged for that bill, too.

She sighed and poured in the rest of the bottle.

* * *

That was the aftermath. Presently, however, a flamethrower had just erupted out of Curtis' derriere, and the steel door of the east wing changing facility was wrenched free of its hinges.

Displaying cat-like reflexes for the first and only time in his twenty years and four months, Dante rescued Cory before he was flattened by the catapulting plank of singed wood. The combination of Curtis' recent doozy, plus all the gas he had let out previously into the room, had led to a much more intense ignition than he had planned. The crowd around Dante reacted in terror - as crowds of adolescents tend to do when nuggets of hot steel are violently lobbed at them.

Three piercing noises managed to carry above the panic and the yowl of the fire alarms. They were screams. Haunted, terrorized screams.

From the depths of hell, the trio emerged. Each one sobbing, each one scorched to some degree (some worse than others), each one coated in one another's vomit, and those that were clothed had their outfits tinged with yellow-brown stains that carried an undeniable aroma of _eau de Fergle._

Not all were clothed, however. One was as naked as a newborn. Herk's towel had not survived the ordeal.

Elvor and Chunk sprinted down the hallway and out of sight. They were not planning on lingering to receive a warm welcome from the spectators. But Herk, noticing the breeze in his nether regions, froze like a deer caught in the headlights in front of a crowd of fifty of his peers, many of whom he had bullied and menaced for years.

The crowd looked at him. He looked back at the crowd. The crowd looked at him again, specifically one area of him located below the beltline.

"See?! I _told_ you he didn't have eight inches!" Bertha boasted to her harpy friend, who reluctantly forked out the cash for the payment of their longtime bet.

Somehow, out of all the smug and snickering faces, Herk managed to find Dante's. Dante (and Cory, who still had Dante's arms protectively wrapped around him), stared at him, tight-lipped to contain his laughter but with a thick brow slowly lifting toward his hairline.

He let Cory go and stepped forward. A breath hitched in the gnome's throat as he was approached by his latest scapegoat.

Dante's eyes flitted below and then back up.

"So," his lips slowly curled into a smirk. "I guess we found out what's down there after all, eh, Herk?"

Quick! How many words does it take to crush someone's soul in smithereens? Thirteen, apparently. Talk about unlucky.

"I... I... _mooooooommmyyy!_ "

With trauma imprinted on him for the foreseeable future, Herk fled from the jeering mob. Everyone who had endured ruthless mistreatment from Herk and his entourage got their feelings out of their system in numerous different ways. Expensive textbooks were sacrificed and Dante heard cuss words that he had never encountered before (and made sure to store away for later use.)

"Yeah, and you _better_ run!"

The crowd's attention was promptly drawn back to where the door had once been, and where a fourth victim - or, by the sounds of it, _victor_ \- was emerging from the plumes of thick, smelly smoke.

They tensed in anticipation. This was the engineer behind the revenge. This was the mastermind, the wizard, the _hero._

The mist cleared to reveal -

Wait.

Wait a second.

The ill-famed skunk of the academy? The ostracised, odiferous outsider? _Farty Fergle?!_

Was it really _him?_ Had _he_ scared the socks (and, er, other items of clothing, by the looks of things) off three of the college's most annoying, intolerable presences?

The crowd stared, but in a way Curtis had never been stared at before. There were no faces scrunched up in disgust. There were no noses being plugged. There were no hands reaching into bags to take out heaps of air-fresheners that everyone seemed to carry around for the sole purpose of throwing at him or sticking on his back.

Instead, they broke out into warm cheers of approval.

"Hell yeah!"

"Way to go, Fergle!"

_"Curtis! Curtis! Curtis! Curtis!"_

Curtis' brows knotted in surprise. He couldn't believe his ears _or_ his eyes. Was that happy, smiling faces happily smiling because of him? School-wide applause and air-punching because of him?

He pinched himself. No, he was awake! He was for sure awake, and everybody was _celebrating_ him!

After a stunned pause, Curtis pumped his arms into the air and let forth a nasally victory cry, which quadrupled the wholesome reaction from his once scornful peers. They came closer - and some even touched him. Fergle germs be damned! They mussed up his messy hair, they patted his back, they commemorated their champion!

"Yeah! Yeah! And THAT's why you don't fudge with the Ferg!" Curtis announced.

And then he farted.

Because of course he farted. He might have discovered that the curse could sometimes be a strength, but that didn't make it not a curse. There was still some of that curry cooking away in his bowels, too, and this became more than apparent when the corridor was flooded with a filthy, stultifying stench.

And, naturally, it sent the crowd (including Cory, who couldn't have been convinced to stay to personally thank Curtis for his bravery even if he had been required to by federal law) screaming and running for their lives.

Curtis blinked in surprise as he quickly found himself standing all alone. Or so he thought.

As the mist cleared for a second time, he saw that one person had remained behind.

"They're running 'cause of the fire alarm, right?" Curtis looked hopefully at Dante. "Or is my new catchphrase that bad? I didn't have much time to come up with-"

"CURTIS!"

Dante pelted forward and grabbed the boy by the shoulders.

"What- why - how?! Why? How?! What?" He gushed, locking his fingers onto Curtis in a way that suggested he wasn't about to let him for at least two years. "Where's your pants?! Where's your glasses?! What the hell's with all the smoke? Why's Herk naked?! _Where are your pants?!_ What did you _do_ in there?"

"You really have to ask?" Curtis grinned dopily.

"Oh, Curtis, I was so worried about..."

Dante's grip on the blonde loosened. He stepped back. His jaw slackened and a startled look contorted his features.

"Curtis..."

"Yes?"

"You were _in_ there with them, man."

"Yup," Curtis nodded. A few singed pieces of hair cast off his head and he dusted them off his face.

"You stood up to them," Dante said, slow and mystified. "Face-to-face. Head on."

"Yup!"

"And you... did you do this for _me?_ "

"Well of course I did, silly!" Curtis giggled. He playfully punched Dante in his upper arm. "I'm not letting anyone disrespect my, my... my, uhhhh..."

Curtis bowed his head. There was a word he was going to use. It was a word that he had wanted to use aloud for a while, but every time he reached for it, an invisible hand swatted it away, and the voice in his head reminded him that just because he felt that way, it didn't mean anyone else did. They rarely ever did.

In fact, since he was eleven, no one had.

"Your friend?"

Curtis' head snapped back up. The shock was plain on his face.

Dante was smiling down at him.

"In case there was any doubt, Curtis, yes. We're friends. That's what this whole thing is."

"Well, I mean - I didn't wanna _assume_ \- I mean if you really _want_ to be..."

An arm was thrown around Curtis' shoulders. Then another arm was thrown around the other side, as Dante pulled him forward and hugged the blonde to his chest.

Curtis let out a soft gasp of surprise. He hadn't been hugged in a very long time. He hadn't anyone show him _any_ kind of affection in a very long time.

"You're such a dummy, short stuff," Curtis could feel the warm vibrations of Dante's laughter as the brunette rested his chin on his head. "And you're crazy, to boot. You hear me? Crazy!"

Curtis couldn't keep up with the emotions flooding his body. He was being hugged, and gosh, did it feel _good!_ He had missed hugs much more than he realized.

"Only for you, big guy," he smiled. He nuzzled his face into the cozy crook of Dante's neck. His body was big and warm and perfectly soft around the middle, and if he listened real carefully, he could hear Dante's heartbeat.

Scratch that. Good didn't even _begin_ to describe how this felt.

"Only for you," he whispered, and he meant every word.

Dante's cheeks reddened at the passion that was present in the shorter fellow's voice. His brain hiccupped, and autopilot kicked in. He carefully untangled Curtis from his body and cleared his throat.

"Alright, c'mon now. You're gonna suffocate yourself doing that," he said. "Although probably not as badly as Herk was. I'm guessing the Curtis Kit wouldn't have had much use?"

"Not in a _bajillion_ years," Curtis replied. "Sorry, but you'll need to rethink your business model."

"All joking aside, are you okay? They didn't do anything to you? You didn't get hurt?"

"Hurt me? Me? Ha! Ha ha ha!" Curtis tossed back his head and laughed maniacally. " _No_ ," he suddenly stopped. "But now that you mention it, I do have a pants situation going on."

"…what _kind_ of pants situation?"

"Er, well, I'm sort of Johnny Cashing it back there, if you catch my drift. Think I'll be sitting on ice-packs for a couple of days," Curtis rubbed his rump and winced sharply when his fingers grazed the sensitive spot in the middle.

"It's impossible to not catch your drift, Curtis." Cautiously, Dante turned the other around and inspected his hindquarters. _"Ah."_

Curtis had completely charred away the back of his boxers, exposing a hole the world would never be prepared for. As a person who was well aware of the damage said hole could inflict, Dante knew it was his duty to employ some form of a preventative measure, or at least as much as he was capable of.

He took off his sweatshirt and handed it to Curtis. Curtis gratefully tied it around his waist.

"Go easy on it, hotshot," the brunette warned. "It's cashmere."

"You two! Stay right there!"

The duo glanced down the hallway as a stern voice echoed toward them. It was hard to identify any specific face through the smoke that still discolored the air, but they could see the bright colors of what looked like firefighter uniforms briskly heading their way.

"Can't tell you why, Curtis, but I've got a feeling we're getting an early start to our summer," Dante said with a laugh - one that soon turned sour. "And, uh, possibly my adult life, if this qualifies for a complete suspension..."

An elbow jutted into his ribs.

"Hey! There is no _my_ ," Curtis informed him. "There's only _ours._ We're a team! We're Curtis and Dante!"

" _Or_ Dante and Curtis," Dante offered his preferred alternative, but his tone was loaded with affection.

"And if we go down," Curtis beamed, "we go down together."

They shared a look that had become so familiar to them, and, smirking, Dante wrapped his arm around his sidekick and held him close. As they meandered toward the oncoming authorities, he hung back to take another glance at Curtis' butt.

Twice. How many people could say that an ass had saved their life **_twice?_**

It was a distinction Dante was proud to hold.

The brunette hummed a tune. After a couple of beats, Curtis recognized it, unleashed with his characteristic set of dweeby snorts, and together they sang the chorus.

_"I fell into a burning ring of fire..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, reader. Because of you- yes, _you_ \- we've only one more chapter to go until this story's completion. Can you believe it? Your kudos and comments mean the absolute world to me, and your generosity and kindness is the reason for every word that I type, and I can get cheesier so I'll stop now. (But seriously: thank you. So much.)
> 
> See you all at Chapter 12!
> 
> P.S - if you're a fan of these boys or my writing, I'm on Tumblr (as well as deviantART.) I shitpost a lot, and you can ask me all the questions you like. http://boringmacaroni.tumblr.com & http://boringmacaroni.deviantart.com
> 
> \- Mac


	12. Dante's Choice

Together.

That was how it had been, since summer began. They had tried, _believe_ me, to keep it nonchalant. Technically, they were no longer bound to one another's company by their shared educational experience. Technically, they didn't _have_ to hang out every day. But as they dawdled home that last afternoon, giddy in their confoundment that they had not been suspended nor kicked out of the academy altogether, what began as a promise to meet again soon for a casual catch-up had, rather inescapably, incited the response of,

 _" - well, why can't we just catch up_ _**now?"** _

It had turned into mornings of video games and bingeing trash TV while cozied up on a sofa or a bed. It had turned into lunchtime food comas that they slept off in the hammock pitched out in Dante's backyard. It turned into siestas spent swaying side-by-side on surfboards while looking up into an endless blue, that blended into nightly star-gazing rituals (and belching competitions – with Dante being the latest winner, although rumor had it this was the case only because Curtis felt bad about his consistent losing streak) on their favorite hill.

It had turned into secret handshakes, had turned into using three rolls worth of film on Polaroid snapshots of their misadventures, had turned into Dante taking up half of the space in Curtis' wardrobe with his own clothes and Curtis having his very own mug for herbal tea at the Dinmont household.

They were simpatico. They were inseparable.

They were lazy.

And on this particular day, they were right back where they started. The forest that almost had them become appetizers for a lycanthrope feast was now their haven from the hordes of tourists who flocked their town and its infinite stretch of untouched beach. With no jobs or internships to keep them busy, they made the most of their limitless, financially restricted free time.

They spent it with each other.

Dusty sunlight streamed through the canopy as the brunette wandered the open woods. He stopped now and then to climb over a dam of twisted tree roots or slap a mosquito from his shoulder or shake a stray pebble out of his loafers, and the shoes slipped off one final time once he reached a pit in the ground. Dante's body broke apart the shimmering surface as he eased his large frame into a pool of hot, green water, where Curtis was already peacefully floating on the opposite side.

"Hey, scruffy," he greeted. "You better watch your thingamajig doesn't get wet."

One eye flicked open to examine the badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck. It was no bigger than a credit card; white, rectangular, scratched and stained, as everything that Curtis owned looked like he had sat on it, with a photo of the blonde in one corner (looking like he _definitely_ wasn't desperate to squeeze one out) and _The United Lands Register Of Magically Afflicted Individuals_ logo filling up another.

In the middle of the badge, in oversized-to-the-point-of-cartoony text, was **CATEGORY A** **ENCHANTMENT:** **CHRONIC FLATULENCE.**

It was Curtis' identification card and, as a magically afflicted individual, he was required to make it visible at all times. The government said it was for his own good, to protect him from the ignorant and the unwise. Curtis didn't feel like it had done much protecting. All it had done was alleviate bullies the need to attach a 'KICK ME' sign onto his back: why bother, when he already had one pinned to his chest?

If he had his way, he would keep it obstructed from the public's critical observation, which is exactly what he did during his classes at the academy. He would've done the same thing in high school and junior school had they let him – and they hadn't, which had made a lousy time even lousier. Curtis couldn't take another four years of advertising his dysfunction. When it was hidden, he could at least _pretend_ to be normal.

"Don't worry about it," he assured. "I had it laminated twice after I dropped my old one in that soup you made. It's basically bulletproof!"

"Ah. You know, I was wondering what that taste was..."

The earth rotated, the clouds shuffling along with it, unveiling the source of the mid-August sultriness. The canopy could repel it no longer. The rays split the willow trees and the two sighed in unison as the warm water frothed and simmered around them.

"Man, oh man…" Dante began, sinking further in with another contented sigh. "Who knew lounging around all day could be so _exhausting?_ A dip in the hot springs is just what the doctor ordered."

"You're telling me," Curtis agreed.

"It's my ideal temperature."

"Not _too_ toasty."

"Right. And it's got just the right amount of bubbles."

"I heard they exfoliate your skin!"

"And it's the perfect size for two," Dante smiled. That was his favorite part. "What are the odds, Fergus?"

"Beats me," Curtis grinned at him. He lolled his head back and shut his eyes. The radiance of the forest showcased the freckles his T-zone had collected so far. Dante watched over him dotingly, as he found himself doing more and more these days.

This is what they liked most. How they shared the silence, _embraced_ the void. How they appreciated the nothingness. It didn't matter what they did, so long as they were with each other.

"We got to go visit them sometime," the blonde added sleepily.

Dante yawned. "Visit what?"

"The hot springs. These pools are neat, but I don't think they have the same kind of effect that the springs do..."

Dante's spine stiffened. He gazed at the liquid he was submerged in, where every second a thick ripple disturbed its sparkling veneer.

Then he looked at Curtis. Then he looked at himself and cautiously lowered his nose to sniff his bronzed complexion. 

**_BBBBbBbllLlOoOORP!_ **

Curtis moaned softly and the bubbling intensified.

"Aw, jeez, _Curtis!_ "

A curtain of droplets showered over his sidekick as Dante launched out of the pit. The blonde went after him, first landing on the ground with a wet flop.

"What's wrong?!"

"That was **_not_** the kind of exfoliation I had in mind, dude!" Dante declared, fervently trying to wipe away the malodorous moisture.

"Ohhh! Heh, sorry, dude," Curtis chuckled meekly. "Guess I was a little _too_ chilled out, huh?"

"You don't say."

Dante sniffed his scented skin again and grimaced.

"Yeesh! No offense to your brand, buddy, but I'm gonna have to wash this off _pronto._ "

Rather than take offense, little feet pattered against the dry soil as Curtis bounced on the spot.

"Oh, oh! Does this mean we get to go into the sea? Do I get to chase the gulls now?! Please please please please _please_ say yes! Pleeeease!"

Dante gulped. The sea. That was on the beach. That was outside the protective barrier of the forest; that was where the _people_ were. "You could do that whenever you wanted," he muttered.

"Aw, but it's no fun if you're hiding back here. You can't see how fast I go. I go _so_ much faster on sand."

"Nobody runs faster on sand."

"Well I do! And you're gonna miss it all!"

Dante exhaled weakly, not noticing the way his hand was running over the scores on his chest. It was coming up for the first anniversary. They didn't hurt, they hadn't hurt for a while. There were no more ragged edges. No more inflamed glaze. His doctor said in the next few months, there'd be nothing but skin.

But they hadn't faded away just yet. And the sun beating down on his naked back was a sensation he hadn't expected to expose himself to so soon. Expose being the keyword, here.

_God, why did I have to leave my shirt at home?_

Before his mind could seep in worry, Curtis nudged him forward. "Baby steps, big guy," he reminded him. "We're doing this thing together."

Dante smiled thinly. "I know, Curtis. But this is more than a step. I'd call it a _leap_. And the beach might as well be a cliffside with crocodile-infested quicksand at the bottom."

"Don't think of it that way. It's just another rung on the ladder, and we're almost at the top!"

"Hmm…"

"Hey," Curtis laid a hand on Dante's right arm, his thumb stroking softly into his sun-kissed skin the way he knew Dante liked. "You know how handsome you are?"

"You and my mom might have mentioned it once or twice," the brunette smirked.

"And do you know how proud I am of you? You've come so far since we met. You couldn't even take off your shirt three weeks ago, and it was eighty-six outside!"

"To be fair, there _was_ a strong breeze..."

"Now look at you! Out here, basking it up! All it took was a couple'a rounds of my motivational speeches and _voila!_ "

"You know they're nowhere near as helpful as you think they are, right?" Dante snorted. "And it's not because of... this. I just like the shade. That's all."

"You don't have to hide them," Curtis resumed. "Scars are important. They show your history. My dad had one on his leg, from when he got caught in this trap as a kid - man, he used to tell the **_best_** story about that. And that's the greatest thing! The stories! Scars tell stories all about who you are."

"Or who you _were_."

"That's still part of the story. And s'not like it's written on there plain to see. Your story can be anything you make it. Oh! I know! You could say it was a squid attack!"

"A _squid_ attack? Do they even have teeth?"

"I don't think so, but they have those - uh, those -" Curtis made some popping gestures with his hands. "Those... slimy things... I bet those can do some serious damage if they want them to!"

Dante braced himself as the ocean air whipped his face. It took away some of the drift coming off Curtis, which, even with his level of familiarity with the cursed boy's posterior, he was thankful for, and like the sea retreating from the beach, it washed away some of the worries too.

The beach.

The _beach._

He was standing on the beach.

Curtis, using the power of dubious knowledge about cephalopods, had rambled them right out of the woods and onto the shoreline.

Dante inclined his head to glare downward. The guilty little blonde looked up and giggled at him.

"Ta-da...?"

_Eeeee-caw-caw-yaw! Caw-caaaw-yaw!_

Sinister melodies tore through the air and distracted the duo. The flock of five were circling a red crab on the water's edge, spear-like beaks jabbing mercilessly at the fumbling swipes of tiny pinchers.

Shortly after they had been released from school, during one of their many mellow afternoons, Curtis had developed a one-sided rivalry with all seagulls to have ever existed. Dante _had_ warned him about the hazards of painting outside in the open, but he hadn't listened.

"Target sighted," the brunette commentated. "Are we initiating your attack sequence?"

"Oh, you better believe it!" Curtis huffed and rolled up invisible sleeves. "Nobody poops on _my_ paintings!"

"And these seagulls are absolutely the same ones that pooped on your painting. I mean, we'd be fools to think otherwise."

"Exactly! No hoodlums on _my_ watch! I'm cleaning up this beach!"

"Then get ready."

"I'm ready!"

"And get set."

"I'm set!"

Dante stuck two fingers in his mouth and fired out a whistle.

And off Curtis went. Dante had to protect his eyes from the clouds that Curtis kicked up behind him as he tore toward the group, his infamous war-cry splitting the ears of those all around.

"My god," the brunette spectated from the slits between his fingers. "He _does_ go faster on sand!"

_"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"_

Curtis set upon the seagulls like a rabid animal. They screamed and vacated the premises as urgently as their wings could take them, giving the crab an unexpected getaway, although now he had to deal with not being squashed by the frantic movements of Curtis' feet.

"Take that! And that!" The blonde kicked, punched, dived and flailed at thin air. "And that! And _this!_ "

**_VvVVvUUUUURRRFFFUUUURRRBBBRRMMMHHHRttTTTRRTPH!_ **

This was not intended to be a gigantically cacophonic fart, but if anyone asked, Curtis would tell them that he meant to create a rainstorm of unconscious avians. Dante dodged the feathered missiles as the flock hit the deck.

"Watch it, Curtis! You know PETA have eyes everywhere!" He shouted.

Curtis came rushing back to him with the energy of a dog who had found the biggest stick the surf had to offer and raced in a celebratory figure-of-eight.

"Hahahaha- _ha!_ I did it! I got 'em! Did you see me, Dante? Did you see me go really fast?"

"Barely! Man, you're supersonic, short stuff! Talk about _gone with the wind!_ "

If there had ever been a perfect audience for Dante's exceedingly painful puns - they seemed to get worse as time went on - Curtis was it. He chortled and snickered and wheezed and tumbled into the sand, apparently so amused by the joke that he could no longer stand upright. Dante knew an opportunity for a body-slam when he saw one. For what was the fifth or sixth time that day, they entered a wrestling match, shoving and scuffling and knocking into each other with boisterous laughter.

And then tragedy struck.

It had nothing to do with their tournament. This tragedy came from afar, but was getting closer and closer, as Dante could hear retching and spluttering and reproving voices.

"Something has _got_ to have died out here, man…"

"No way! It smells worse than that! It's like a sewage pipe backed up!"

Worse still: they were voices he _recognized._

"Yo, is that...?

"No... it can't..."

"It _is!_ Hey, that's Dante!"

And they recognized him too. Paul and Tim, his ex-friends and ex-bandmates, accompanied by a tattooed guy that Dante had never seen before, had crossed paths with he and Curtis.

The two groups studied one another. Each of them bewildered for a myriad of reasons.

As Dante picked himself up, he instinctively folded his arms to disguise his chest, but that wasn't what had grasped their attention in such an unforgiving chokehold (much like the chokehold Curtis had tried to use on Dante moments before.)

Paul gasped. Tim looked as though some ghostly apparition had manifested before him. The new guy tried not to spit up onto the sand.

"No freaking way," Paul remarked, turning to see if Tim had made the same terrible discovery. "Liza was right! He _is_ hanging out with Farty Fergle!"

The faun shook his head, his mouth agape.

"Oh, Dante," Tim's voice quavered, as though Dante was lying in front of them surrounded by empty bottles of booze and used crack spoons. "Oh, Dante, _dude_... no..."

The new addition choked out, "Farty _what?_ "

"The midget," Paul pointed at Curtis. "He's the guy we told you about."

"The _cursed_ guy," Tim added.

"Don't talk shit. Didn't believe it then, won't believe it now."

"We're not! He's got some fucked up farty voodoo going on! Sincerely!"

With a gasp of panicked realization, Curtis folded his arms too. But it was too late. It was always too late. The tattooed fellow was already ahead of him and had yanked a hand out to pull on the lanyard.

"Hey, quit it!" Dante snapped.

"Relax," the new guy pushed his fringe out of his eyes and winked at Dante, then honed in on Curtis. "Say, what'cha got there, stinky?"

"It's nothing!" Curtis cried.

"Didn't look like nothing. In fact, it looked more like a _something_."

"It isn't! It's- it's just some dumb- it's nothing, honest!"

He uncurled each of Curtis' fingers from their fastened clasp on the badge and uncovered the sensitive details. "Category… chronic..." The new guy frowned – and then his scanning eyes went wide. " _Oh, Jesus!_ "

He rebounded, releasing Curtis so harshly that he fell back and evoked laughter from Paul and Tim.

"Eugh! Aw shit, you assholes let me touch him!" He berated the two, then a wrathful look was thrown at Curtis and Dante. "What the hell?! I didn't think these freaks could just, like, _walk_ around out here. Shouldn't he be in a circus or a lab or something?"

"Funny, I was gonna ask you the same question," Dante snarled. He helped Curtis onto his feet and placed himself between him and the others. "A hello would've been nice, you know," his eyes blazed at Paul and Tim. "And maybe a warn-"

"What's with the scars?" The new voice interrupted, and Dante's heart vaulted up his throat.

Paul shaded his eyes from the sun to get a better look. Tim's furry ears curved inward in a curious manner.

"Oh yeah! Those look really bad, dude," he commented. "You get in a fight or something?"

Dante was dumbstruck. And in the absence of his typically barbed and acidic tongue, an awkward silence was overstaying its welcome.

But Curtis knew just what to do.

"They're from a squid attack!" he piped up. "A big squid! A **_huge_** squid! And he fought it off with his bare hands! I saw him do it! I sa-"

"No, they're not."

Dante found his voice, nestled among his admiration for the protective blonde. Curtis had stood up for him long enough; it was about time he gave it a shot.

He gave his friend a thankful smile, before taking two large, imposing steps into the personal bubble of the one with the tattoos.

"They're from a surgery I had. Big whoop." The brunette slowly turned his head to address Paul and Tim. "Like I was saying, maybe a warning before you brought some _reprobate_ here. I mean, what sewer did you fish this mutant out of?"

The new guy scoffed. "You wanna repeat that?"

"Sure!" If you aren't familiar with Dante's ability to turn bad situations into nightmare situations by now, go back and read a few chapters. "What **_SEWER_** did you fish this **_MUTANT_** out of-"

"Oh my gosh! Dante, _HIII!_ "

She had hurled herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck before he even figured out who she was. And once he did - it's hard to forget the voice that's been haunting your dreams for two solid months - he felt his heart retreat all the way into his stomach, sinking like a stone.

_(Look, Dante, we've been thinking for a while and...)_

"Hey, Liza," he mumbled.

"This is crazy! What luck! We were literally just about to stop by your place, I was gonna…" She faded out. That werecat nose of hers was scrunching the same way it did whenever she walked past the town dump on a humid day. Whatever cologne Dante was wearing needed recalled _immediately._

Never mind that, she thought, and smiled earnestly at him with big, bright yellow eyes, until these big bright eyes, and nose, discovered Curtis.

"Oh. You're with... _oh_..."

Dante looked behind him, where Curtis was hoping the ground _would_ morph into quicksand, and that one of those crocodiles would spring up and devour him without stopping to chew on his bones. Clearly fazed by the harassment, and with no shirt to tuck it under, the blonde's trembling hands were shielding the badge as best he could. In doing so he drew more attention to it than ever before.

Dante wanted to scoop him up and whisk him away to their hammock or their hill or any place, anywhere, that wasn't here.

"This is Paul and Tim and Liza," he said. "Remember me telling you about them, way back then?"

Curtis nodded. His eyes were glued to the sand.

"And Rover," the new voice grunted.

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be off leash on this beach."

"What?"

"Forget it. _And_ Rover," Dante cleared his throat. "Guess the gang's all here. Well then, everybody, this is..."

**_TBBBBBPHHHHHHHRRRRUFFRT!_ **

The air was stifled by a tidal wave of rotten eggs as a large fart suddenly flapped out of Curtis' backside.

"...Curtis."

The group responded the way everyone responded when Farty Fergle cracked one off; that is, like someone had just dumped a basin of fresh faecal matter all over their heads. Dark yellow clouds spread out and barricaded them from the crisp oceanic atmosphere as Curtis whined out a self-conscious apology.

"Yeah, so we smell!" Tim gagged.

"Dante," Liza croaked as she swabbed at her burning eyes, "so _much_ has happened since..."

**RRrRRRRBBFFFFRRRRVVUPHT! BLLBLLRRMMFFRLLP-PPPUHHMP!**

"Give me a break!"

"Can't he just stick a cork in it already?!"

Dante knew this wasn't Judy wanting to fuck with Curtis, although that had to play a part. He was nervous. He was nervous because his old friends had chosen to _make_ him nervous, with their snobbery and bare-faced bigotry. Had they always been like this? Had Dante been like this, once?

The thought turned him cold.

"Uh, Dante?" Liza's gaze flitted to Curtis, checking to see if he'd let loose again.

"It's not gonna stop any time soon, so just keep talking," Dante advised.

"Or maybe this might be better if we... spoke alone."

"Fine," the brunette shrugged. He glanced at Tim and Paul and - the _other_ one. "Guess that's your call to scram, fellas."

Liza bit her lip and the cold feeling got worse.

"I didn't mean _them_ ," she clarified.

The silence loomed and Dante felt their gazes fall contemptuously upon his gassy companion. The ice melted. Now he was burning up.

"Are you being serious? He isn't doing it on- _no!_ "

He whirled around at the sound of footsteps hammering against the sand. He knew those footsteps. Fear exploded inside at the sight of a fleeing Curtis, en route to vanishing over the crest of a sand dune.

"Hey! Wait! Curtis, Curtis, wait – aw, fuck!" Fuming, he twisted back around to advance on Lisa. Wwhat did you have to go and do that for?!"

"What are you, his babysitter? He'll be fine," Liza protested.

"Yeah. Probably just had to go change his pants."

"Or _burn_ his pants."

"Shut up!" She hissed at Tim and Paul, who giggled twice as much.

Dante quickly snatched in a breath. This was the first time in weeks that Curtis had not been by his side, and he felt the vastness of every inch that separated them.

"I'm digging your beach bod, D!" Liza bumped her elbow into his ribs. "I remember you having a tan just like this when we met. I thought it looked pretty nifty on you then, too!"

Dante was still and silent. The werecat laughed uncomfortably.

She plowed on, "so, like I was saying, _so_ much has happened! We met Rover-"

"Is that actually his name?" Dante spoke finally.

"It's a family name," Rover briskly replied.

"It's a _dog's_ name."

"We met Rover," Liza chose to ignore the friction. "He's been filling your spot while you were gone. He can play the piano, the drums - _and_ he's a three-octave tenor!"

"Working on four," Rover added smugly.

"We met him a few days after... our split up," the words were hard to get out, and even more so to hear. Paul and Tim stirred by her side. "He was in the coffee shop where we had our first gig. Remember that? Actually, it feels silly calling _that_ a gig now, because - well, this is why I wanted to speak to you. You're not gonna believe this, but we're going on a road trip."

"Neat," Dante responded listlessly.

"As in, we're **_touring!_** We got bookings in _five_ different cities!"

"Great," Dante answered.

"All thanks to Rover's uncle!"

"Hooray," Dante replied. He was one sarcastic urge away from clapping.

"An uncle who has a sister who's looking for a Potionology apprentice." She paused. "A **_paid_** apprentice."

This was the clincher, and Liza knew it when Dante lifted his head, eyes full of life once again.

"And we put in an extra good word in for you!"

"Subject to change…" Rover began, and winced when he had his foot stamped on.

"No, _not_ subject to change. You deserve all the praise you get, Mr. Dinmont," she beamed. "Gods know you work so hard for it."

Dante blinked at her. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious. She's asked for some contact details, but we're going to be stopping by her town while we're on the road. I think it'd be much better to meet her in person, don't you think? Maybe whip up a few basic mixes with her? Show her how talented you are?"

"Sure," Dante nodded. "Sure!"

"So, what I wanted to ask is... well, there's enough room for-… Dante?"

It came out in a burst of fearful and dizzy laughter, like the sound someone who has just experienced a brush with death might make.

Dante backed away from her. He backed away from them all, and when he opened his mouth, his voice was reedy with anxiety he was disheartened to learn he still had.

"Wait, wait. You... aren't actually trying this with me, are you?" he asked.

"Trying what?"

"You know what I mean, Liza."

"We just wanted to ask you if you wanted to chill with us again, that's all," she shifted nervously. "I mean, you've been hanging out with Fergle for _so_ long…"

Dante's voice abruptly firmed. "And? What's so bad about that?"

The werecat looked at Dante like a door had opened on his forehead and spilled out all his marbles.

"I figured you might… I just thought that… I mean, hanging out with him must be… interesting."

"Interesting's not the word _I'd_ use," Rover uttered under his breath.

"Oh, but she's right," Dante smiled wryly. "It _has_ been interesting. It's interesting that I almost fell for it, until Curtis came along. You guys really wanted me to believe that it was normal for people to drop each other after the smallest of mistakes, didn't you?"

"Wait, Dante, we…"

"Let me speak. You know Curtis doesn't care that I made a fool of myself? He's sympathetic, sure, but he doesn't mind. He didn't mind when people were laughing at me, he didn't mind that I drew attention to myself everywhere I went. He didn't call me Dante Diapers. And yeah, Paul, we all know who started _that_ one," he shot daggers at the red-head. "Curtis doesn't care. Because he knows what it means to be a decent friend. But I dunno, that topic might be a little too mind-blowing for you guys…"

Liza swallowed, tucking a hair behind her ear. "Dante, I-" She looked at Paul and Tim, to fully include them in her guilt. " _We_ know. We know what we did to you, because we've had to live with it every day since it happened. I can't believe how ridiculously we reacted. Dropping you like that, kicking you out of the band, all because you…"

"He pissed his pants, Liza." The faun helped her out when her sentence trailed off. "Remember? In front of everybody in that corridor? It was all over the floor and the janitor had to-"

Liza gritted her fangs. "Yes, I hadn't forgotten, Timothy. But I didn't want to say it _out loud_ because I knew it would embarrass him."

"…oh."

If he had heard it, he hadn't made it obvious. The brunette's body was angled toward the direction Curtis had taken off in.

"I'm appalled at us," Liza steadied on, knowing she was losing him. "As if we're still in high school. As if being popular - whatever _that_ is - means anything. Right? Isn't that _so_ dumb?"

She invited him to join in with her self-deprecating laughter, but Dante was gone. Physically, he was still right there in front of her, but she could see it in his face. Even if she stretched out her hand, he would still be too far out of her reach.

But she had to try. She exhaled, then bridged the gap between her and the boy. Her hand found a spot on his shoulder. It was cool and rigid; maybe she couldn't help it, but that wasn't the point. The point was that it was not the warm, soothing touch he had come to know so well over the last two months.

It wasn't Curtis.

He swiped his arm away from her.

 _Why couldn't you just leave me alone?_ He wanted to yell until he was hoarse. _Why did you have to come find me? I was doing good. I was letting go._

"Dante," Liza started, "from all of us, but especially me, I'm sorry. I'm sorry we treated you like that. We turned our backs on you. We were your friends, and you were vulnerable, and we should've stuck by you."

"Yeah," Dante grunted. "Tell me something I don't know."

"But you know," her voice lifted in amused admiration, "we heard _all_ about how you got payback on that little creep..."

"Everybody has," Tim joined in.

"It was totally kick-ass!" Paul added.

"It was _marginally_ cool," Rover mumbled grudgingly.

Liza grinned. "You really bounced back, huh?"

"Only because of Curtis," Dante said. He was perking up at the thought of the Operation, and the look on Herk's face, and most of all, the image of his little buddy, a winner at last. "I couldn't have done it without him."

"Of course," Liza made a halfhearted effort to care. "Look, I guess I should just come out with it. We want you in the band. Our tour's gonna spill over into the new academic year, but you can take a semester out and actually _live_ for once. And we'll be right there beside you, supporting you all the way, just like we should've been doing in the first place."

"We started it with you, and it would only be fair to finish as a group," Paul continued.

"Right! You gotta do it, Dante," Tim cheered. "We're gonna _be_ something! Name-in-lights _somethings!_ "

"And you _all_ want me?" Dante questioned, unconvinced. "Even man's best friend over here?"

"You have a big mouth..." Liza raised her foot just in case. "But I know talent when I hear it," Rover admitted. "Liza played me the recordings. You're what sold the entire shabang to my uncle, actually. Whatever you've got, man, we need it."

Dante would be a liar if he said he hadn't fantasized about something like this happening. The group realizing the error of their ways, and coming back, _crawling_ back, _begging_ for forgiveness...

"Sounds too good to be true," he murmured.

"I know. It sounds that way, but I promise it's for real. We're almost ready to go. You're the only thing that we're missing. _Please_ ," Liza adjured. "You know we can't do this without you. You were always the greatest thing about us, and it's never been the same since."

Fame, Dante could live without. He knew the chances of their band ever being _name-in-light-somethings_ was as minuscule as the grains beneath his feet. But a paid apprenticeship with an actual Potionologist? This was his get out of jail card; it was either this or picking up shifts sorting stamps at the post office again. He'd be a chump _not_ to try it.

He took in the hopeful, awaiting expressions, and sighed, relenting.

"I haven't played in a while…" A smirk slid onto his face. "But it's nothing a little practice can't fix."

"YES!" Liza cried, unable to resist throwing her arms around him once again. "Oh, Dante, you're the _best!_ "

" _Whoop-whoop!_ That's what I'm talking about!" Tim exclaimed.

Dante smiled as his friends rejoiced. Even Rover pretended to look pleased. "And I'm sure Curtis will master the triangle eventually," he said. "It takes time, but he gets there."

Like clockwork, someone slammed the pause button on their celebration.

"What?" Dante asked into the deafening silence. "You guys already recruited a master triangulist?"

"Uh, I'm thinking more about the part _before_ that..." Tim replied.

"Curtis? Yeah, he's not really into music, as far as I can tell. So I guess he can maybe a groupie. Don't worry, I'll find something for him."

Tim looked at his hooves. Paul and Rover were suddenly extremely invested in one of the hundreds of sailboats that were drifting out past the horizon.

Liza was the only one with the gall. She always had been. And she was learning to make an art out of delivering unpleasant news.

"Dante," she stopped to wet her lips, then looked at the ground so she didn't have to look at whatever effect the words would have on Dante's face. "We don't want him."

Dante gave this statement the only response it deserved: a hardline pause. It would give him the chance to lasso his bucking bronco of enraged disappointment. Not so much in them. Mostly in himself. _Fool me once..._

With his pulse drumming in his ears, he had no choice but to raise his voice, ensuring they all heard him... especially those who wished they couldn't.

"I'm not leaving him behind," he announced. "We're a package deal, me and the Ferg. We don't come separately."

Liza's luminescent eyes suddenly flashed in fury. "For pixie's sake, Dante! What're you talking about? Hasn't this summer been bad enough for you? You actually _want_ to keep hanging out with that moron?"

"I know what you guys think about him. You won't be the last people to misjudge him, trust me, but just wait. Wait and get to know him a while. He's not a moron, he's..."

"A freak," Tim suggested haughtily.

"He's _not_ a freak," Dante hit back. "It's not his fault he's like that. He got _cursed._ Do you think he asked for that to happen? Does anyone?"

"So what? Doesn't make him any less of a loser," Paul scoffed.

"He's _not_ a loser! What are you guys even talking about? You don't know him. You don't know what he's like, you only know what you've heard. You don't know that he's loyal and he's sweet and -"

"Doesn't _smell_ sweet," Rover remarked, and then came the gales of laughter. Even Liza laughed, if only to make Dante realize how asinine he was being.

But Dante persisted.

"I've never met anyone with a heart as big as his. I only knew him for two weeks and he..." Someone cracked another joke, and the laughter grew louder. So Dante grew louder. "He stood up for me! He _helped_ me! Which is way more than you pathetic shit-for-brains bastards _ever_ did!"

Only Dante's heavy breathing broke the somber, shocked silence that followed his outburst. Okay, so much for keeping his cool.

"You know what the problem is?" Tim queried icily. "He's _infected_ you."

"...what?"

"It's his voodoo. Or his germs, or something. It's leaked out of his stomach and into his brain and now it's in _you._ My grandma told me all about it! She said she knew somebody who got second-hand-cursed way back in the fifties! It was in the newspapers! It makes you think all kinds of crazy things!"

"FUCK!" The brunette slapped a hand against his forehead. "Your grandma told you? _Fuck._ I had _no_ idea, you know how your grandma is my most trusted source! Oh god!"

"Dante, for your sake, I'm going to pretend that didn't just happen," Liza growled.

"Why?" Dante dared. "It did. And I'm not taking it back."

"Because this is the chance of a lifetime, _that's_ why. I'm not letting you waste it on some nobody. This can put you on the map, this can take you places."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dante crossed his arms and made a show of rolling his eyes. "So you've said."

"You have to make a choice, Dante," she preserved. "It's either us and your _future_ , or staying here and- and-"

"-wasting your life away with some smelly dwarf!" Tim finished for her. This time it was welcomed.

"Exactly," Liza huffed, staring Dante down with her slitted pupils. "So what are you gonna say?"

Dante pursed his lips and looked over his shoulder, to where the sun was making pyramids out of the sand dunes. Like it or not, he had only one thing _to_ say.

"He's not a dwarf," he corrected.

* * *

_"And how about school?"_

_He lifted his head, and his round, rimmed glasses slid back up his nose. "Yes, m'am?"_

_"Who are you, there? Are you noticed?" The murky-eyed woman challenged. "Are you wanted, are you part of something?" She craned her neck, her shock of unruly hair shading half of her sagging face. "Are you – as your mother might put it -_ _**popular?"** _

_The word made goose-pimples sprout on his arms and neck. That_ was _a word his mother liked to use, often when she was rebuking him about the things he should be rather than the things he was. Too small, too shy, too plain. Things which, according to Cecelia Fergle, didn't amount to very much. Not at all._

_"Well… I'm on the baseball team," he ventured hesitantly. "And I play soccer on Thursdays and Sundays, too."_

_But 'play' suggested more than being an ignored benchwarmer, which was what he had been since try-outs (he overheard Bradley Baker tell Dean Anderson in class that he was only on the team to make up the numbers.) And 'team' should've meant that the rest of the group didn't argue about who had to have him on their side when they split up for practices, but they did._

_"…and there's some boys I sit with at lunch. We trade cards, sometimes."_

_He would've called them friends, but friends – as far as he had garnered from conversations with his father, or watching VHS tapes of_ Mr. Roger's Neighborhood _(which was regarded far and wide on the playground as being a baby show, but Curtis liked it) – usually meant people who didn't deliberately talk over you when you tried to throw your two cents in on the discussion, meant people that invited you to play a few rounds of kickball in the park instead of you accidentally coming across them while taking a walk, even though they said they would be busy that night. Friends were people who waited for you when you had to stop to tie your shoelace instead of walking ahead so you had to run to catch up, and when you got there, they hadn't even noticed you were gone._

_But Curtis didn't have those._

_His mother knew that all too well. It seemed to upset her in a way Curtis couldn't really understand, at least not yet. Curtis hated to upset her. Or anyone else for that matter._

_What harm could a little lie do?_

_"Sure," he decided. "I've got lots of friends."_

And all of this, Curtis thought, sitting among the seaweed and the rocks with his head held in hands that quivered in the backwash of a whopper of a panic attack, watching the group reconcile (he had picked his way back over the dunes toward the reunion after he had calmed down a bit, and hadn't gone as far as Dante thought he had - hadn't gone as far as he should _have_ , because now he could hear every word of what they were saying), had happened before Judy had entered his life.

Sometimes Curtis wondered whether his _'friends'_ – either on the team, or the ones who occasionally allowed him to sit at the same table as them in the cafeteria – had enjoyed that day he came back to school, with a badge around his neck and a thick, sick stench trailing him wherever he went (despite the servants' best efforts to mask it before he left the mansion.)

It gave them a reason to keep doing all the things they already did to Curtis.

Maybe they hadn't even _needed_ a reason.

Maybe they would've kept at it anyway, Judy or not.

Sometimes, in the darkest moments… Curtis wondered if the curse had anything to do with it all.

* * *

Dante didn't pay attention to the way the sand seared the soles of his feet as he traipsed toward where he had last seen Curtis. Nor did he pay any attention to Liza, when she called to him one last time as he walked further and further across the beach and out of their lives.

She was probably ranking him out, telling how much he'd regret it. But he didn't care.

He had let go.

And in letting go, he had opened his eyes. The enlightenment was blinding. All along, _that_ was what he had been so depressed about. _Those_ people - if you could call them that - were the ones he had wasted his tears, his frustrations, his _time_ on. How had he not noticed before? That what had felt like a grand and deeply personal loss had been the best thing to happen to him since arriving in this town all those months ago?

Had been his gateway to a better life?

 _Isn't it funny,_ _how distance takes the shine away._

This was what rattled around the back of his head when a gust blew in his direction. If it was capable of such a feat, Dante was sure it would've burst out of his chest all Tex Avery style: that was how happy his heart was when he recognized the odor it carried.

"Curtis! Oh, buddy, there you- _ah!_ "

Curtis' twiggy arms swaddled Dante's trunk and hugged him tightly. The brunette laughed merrily and noogied the other's head.

"Aww! D'ya miss me, scruffster? You know I was only gone for like, twenty minutes," he snorted.

_Gone._

The word sunk its teeth into Curtis and hit every nerve on its entrance. It took courage to part their bodies for what would surely be the last time, but once he did, he stood before his friend, his _only_ friend, trying his best, his _very_ best, to keep his head held high. He was going to be brave, no matter how much it hurt.

"Dante, if you got enough time... I gotta tell you something. Is that okay?"

 _Enough what?_ The brunette's brow creased. "Uh... yeah?"

Curtis shut his eyes and collected his whirlpool of thoughts.

"I used to... I used to think I knew what a friend was, until I met you," he started quietly. "I guess it's like how when you're a little kid, and you think the town you grew up in is the whole wide world, and there's nothing else to see. Then someone comes along and shows you a map one day, and you realize there's _so_ much out there that you're missing. All you needed was someone to show you." He looked up into Dante's puzzled face. "And you were my map."

"Curtis?"

"What I mean is that… please don't think that..." He faltered. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but it wouldn't go down, and his already wavering voice suffered for it. "Just because we might not be... _with_ each other... that I'm not on your side. I'll always be on your side, Dante, for every step of the way. We're gonna reach the top of that ladder no matter how far apart we might be." Curtis' green eyes were getting glossier and glossier. "Always. That's a promise, and don't _ever_ let yourself think otherwise. Don't let it hold you back."

"Curtis…"

"This is your life, Dante, and I want it to be great for you," the blonde looked away, pain twisting his features, pricking at his eyes. "But we both know it can't be great if I'm in it," his spirits crumbled.

The sides of Dante's mouth rose in a toying smirk. "Curtis, are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"W-What?"

"You're trying to get rid of me, you sneaky stinker! Tossing me out like last night's leftovers!"

Dante had no time to take it back, although he knew immediately that he had misread the atmosphere between them - because the boy in front of him had shattered.

"NO!" Curtis shrieked. _"I thought YOU wanted to get rid of ME!"_

Curtis wailed. He wailed as a child wailed for its parent. His skinny figure juddered and his eyes spurted fresh salt all the way down his freckled cheeks and he threw himself forward, howling into Dante's torso.

" _Jesus-!_ Hey! Curtis! Hey, hey, it's okay! It's okay! It's alright!" Dante shrilled. "I was only fooling around with you, man! I swear!"

His stomach turned at the awful, serrating sound. This was the first time he had heard Curtis cry. Really, truly cry; not _I-just-watched-a-video-of-a-cockatiel-singing-If-You're-Happy-And-You-Know-It_ crying.

"This is so much sadder than I thought it would be," he joked desperately, but he could feel liquid brimming in his sockets too. What had happened while he was gone? For a moment, he wondered if Rover or Paul had went back to find Curtis and started ribbing on him again – but he knew it was impossible, they had been standing right in front of him the whole time.

Although, they weren't the only ones in this town who seemed to take a fancy to picking on Curtis.

"Curtis, you're okay, dude. You're alright. Ssssh. _Please_ don't cry. I've got you; I've got you…" Dante caressed him and the shaking ceased. That was because Curtis had freed himself from Dante's loving grasp, let go of a tremulous breath, and took off his glasses to rub at his puffy eyes.

Dante thought he heard a 'thank you'.

"What?" he asked.

"Thank you," Curtis sniffed defeatedly. "For giving me a chance. I didn't think anybody ever would, but you did, and I..." He sighed and shook his head. "That's all I'm gonna say. I'm wasting your time. Go on, go catch up with them."

"No."

"But Dante, they're _leaving._ "

"Hell yeah they're leaving. I told those dipshits to get lost."

Curtis' face knotted. His lips made a hole, but Dante spoke before anything could come out.

"Curtis," he said softly with a growing smile, "I chose _you._ "

The knot loosened and Curtis' jaw fell wide open. "No! You can't choose me!"

"Why not?"

"Because you're supposed to go and tour the country and become a famous rockstar-slash-apprentice!"

"Yeah, maybe, but I don't want to. I want to stay here with you."

"But you _can't!_ "

"Why not?!"

"Because - because -" The tears started again. "Because I'm a _nobody!_ Oh god, Dante!"

Curtis tossed his glasses onto the ground and furiously knuckled his leaking eyes.

"I'll always be a nobody! And I'm not letting you be a nobody too, not when you can be something _better._ That's the most selfish thing a friend could do!"

"Curtis, I don't have to go somewhere to be somebody or _become_ something," Dante patiently explained. "I'm already something when I'm right here with you."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I _am_."

"What are you?" Curtis demanded, shuddering as he held onto his heartache. "A loser? A freak? Is that what you are?"

"Probably. But that's not what I meant."

"Then what _did_ you mean?"

Dante smiled warmly. "When I'm with you, I'm happy."

The gulls were calling, way above their heads. But Curtis paid them no heed. He studied Dante's face, to detect the falsehoods he had once been so used to, then turned from him to face the sea.

"If this is because of what I did to Herk," he started after a thoughtful pause. He was still scrubbing the snot away. "You don't have to be stay with me because of that. I would've done that anyway."

"That had nothing to do with it. You were never some temporary replacement."

"But they're your friends, man," the blonde insisted.

"Curtis, _you're_ my fri-"

"No!" Curtis spun around. "It's not the same! They're your _real_ friends! They were your friends way before you met me. You told me how much you missed them! How much you wanted to be with them again! I remember!"

Dante heard the confusion and the agony and it drilled through his chest like an ice-pick. His shoulders slumped. There was nothing he could deny.

"You can't possibly understand how deeply it destroys me to say these words, but I'm not as smart as I think I am," Dante murmured. "There's nothing _real_ about those guys, Curtis. Spending time with you has made that crystal clear. Even a big dumb dummy like me can figure it out."

He bent down, picked up Curtis' glasses, and handed them over. Curtis adjusted them on his nose and sniffed. His tear-drenched skin glistened in the sun.

"You're making a mistake," he pleaded pathetically with the brunette. "You know that, don't you? You have to know that."

"All I know is that you spoke up for me when I couldn't. You gave me a voice. You protected me. That's what a real friend does. That's what a _best_ friend does, and that's exactly what you are to me," Dante made his case.

Curtis was shaking his head. His defiance was feeble, growing frailer with every retort.

"You're making a mistake, Dante," he repeated, speaking slowly as if talking to a child. "You don't _have_ to stay. I'll be okay here, I'll be-"

"Aw shit, Curtis, like hell you would!"

The second last thing Curtis expected was to hear a fatal hitch in Dante's voice. And the _very_ last thing he expected was to see the brunette openly weeping.

"Look at the life you have here, man!" Dante exploded with a frustrated sob. "Stuck with a lunatic mom who treats you like shit and a town full of people who want nothing to do with you? _Really?_ You're _okay_ with that?"

Curtis' lip quivered. Tears slipped down his chin. "I have to be," he whispered.

"No," Dante ordered, "not while I'm around."

He gripped Curtis' by the shoulders. When Curtis looked away, he turned his head back.

"Listen to me, Curtis. I'm _sorry_ ," his voice cracked as he looked past the dust on the lenses and into Curtis' kind, puppy dog eyes, and yet he remained stoic. "I'm so sorry people make you think that you're not good enough for them. That you don't deserve to be important to somebody. That you _aren't_ a somebody. And if I have to spend the rest of this summer, and the rest of the year, and the rest of our _lives_ proving to be you that you _are_ enough - then I will, buddy. I'll do it."

Curtis shivered. He had only one argument left, and Dante was ready for it.

He snuffled out, "why?"

Dante's hand rose and cupped the boy's face. **_His_** boy's face, with its kind eyes and its fair, speckled skin and its oodles of mousy hair that Dante knew he would spend the rest of his life at war with in an effort to keep it looking even _moderately_ tidy.

He could hardly wait.

"Because you're worth it, Curtis," he told him, and before he could protest he brought Curtis near, to decorate his cheek with a delicate kiss. Hey, proof didn't come much stronger than _that_ , did it?

Curtis swallowed effortlessly – the lump had dissolved – and blinked, then raised his hand, to let his fingers carefully smooth over the spot he had been embraced on.

"Damn it," he muttered.

Dante didn't know why he felt a sudden chill up his back, because he knew Curtis would not object to any show of his affections, _but what if_ … those three words could be a killer. "Curtis," he stammered, "if ou didn't like that, I-"

"Oh, I liked that, alright," as if reading his mind, Curtis cut in before Dante made his fear known. The straightforwardness of his opining made Dante snort. "I'm just disappointed by it."

"Gee, thanks."

"Not because of _you._ It's because…"

"Because…?"

Curtis rubbed the back of his neck. "It's dumb," he whispered.

Dante was beginning to grin. "Tell me."

"No..."

"Curtis?"

"No, I don't wanna."

"Cuuuurtis?"

"No."

" _Cuuuuuu_ urtis…"

"No, you'll laugh, man! You'll – wait, stop - _no!_ "

Dante grabbed him and trailed his fingers up and down his scrawny sides, digging in, pinching and tickling him until he had no choice but to cry out, "I always thought that might lift the spell!"

The brunette narrowed his eyes. "What might?"

"You know..." Curtis' left foot shyly toed at the ground. "True love's kiss," he finally admitted.

"...oh."

"But I ripped a silent one when you did it, if you hadn't noticed," Curtis carried on, destroying the mood immediately, as he was wont to do. "And I just ripped another one while saying that."

"Curtis, every living creature within eighty miles noticed," Dante quipped.

But he couldn't fan the smell away (he wasn't sure his motors neutrons knew how to work anymore, to be honest.) He was surprised he could even get any words out, what with the huge, bashful smile taking up half his face, which he was _not_ surprised to report had grown incredibly hot in the past ten seconds.

He grinned mischievously. "But you know that wasn't a _real_ kiss, right?"

Curtis raised his head to inquire further. And that was when Dante thrust forward and swooped in, attached a hand to each side of Curtis' adorable little noggin, and connected their lips in a passionate embrace.

This time it was no silly little peck, and they both knew it.

_**PPHHHHHHBBBBBBRRUTFFFFMPH!** _

...make that three.

"Welp, I guess that's a no from Judy!"

Beside him, Dante's sidekick was doing a great impression of a flatulent statue. Fleetingly he wondered if he had sucked all the oxygen out of his lungs with his gesture - not bad for his first ever Frenchie, huh? - for the only tell-tale sign that there was still life within Curtis was the periodic twitch of his eye and the deepening cherry-red blush that was spreading from ear-to-ear.

The blonde blabbed incoherently. Well, more incoherently than normal.

"Wh...wh... wha… _whaa…?_ "

"Come on, Fergs," Dante slapped him on the back like it had been nothing. Because it had been. It had felt as natural as a noogie, and it would certainly be reoccurring just as often. "We got another half of this beach to gas out and we're running a _very_ tight schedule here. Let's pick up the pace!"

Exhilarated, he sprinted ahead, but little feet were not pattering after him. He swung around and playfully tutted at the sight of a still very-much-loved-up Fergle.

"Come _on_ , Curtis! Wakey wakey!"

"- HUH?!" Curtis gasped for air. Had he just passed out? He must have, he felt like he had been floating. "What happ... oh! Oh, wait for me, dude! I'm coming! I'm coming!"

The blonde peeled after him. When he caught up, wheezing and dizzy, Dante laughed and shoved him. Curtis laughed and shoved him back.

Out with the old and into the new, Dante thought. Into another phase of their relationship. Into the makings of a future.

Their future.

_Together._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"And, scene." - Dante, Chapter Seven_
> 
> So... here we are. 
> 
> I want to sincerely thank every person who tagged along with me on this journey, whether you made yourselves known or not. When publishing any piece of fiction, but especially that which requires the audience to stay engaged for multiple chapters, it's easy to fall into the trap that you're the only person reading your own work. If you sink low enough, it can clog up your creative flow altogether. But you guys made your investment in this story so plain that I never felt any doubt that I didn't have someone out there who cared about my characters as much as I do, and for that reason (not for the farts, although I can't exactly tell you they _weren't_ an incentive...) every chapter was a joy to write. There is a reason I managed to finish this in its entirety and that is because of YOU. Thank you dearly, and I truly hope this is a worthwhile ending. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, but especially in this case: I'd love to hear your thoughts if you have any to share! 
> 
> And fear not, dear reader, for you have not smelled the last of Curtis and Dante... 
> 
> \- Mac ♥


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